


good enough to eat

by brokendrums



Category: MasterChef (UK) RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Competition, Food, M/M, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-09 11:43:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 43,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1145557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokendrums/pseuds/brokendrums
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall meets Harry on the set of Masterchef and is instantly attracted to him, even if he is a bit of a dick and far too smug for his own good. He finally cracks his determined exterior and a pretty mind blowing set of blowjobs later they start tentatively seeing each other, only Harry is far too invested in the competition and he just doesn’t have time for distractions like Niall</p>
<p>A MasterChef AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	good enough to eat

**Author's Note:**

> Completed for Round 2 of the [ One Direction Big Bang](1d-bigbang.livejournal.com). 
> 
> A huge, huge thank you to [ Katie ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bisousniall/pseuds/bisousniall), [ Nadine ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/idctbqh/pseuds/idctbqh) and [ Grace ](http://twist204.livejournal.com/) for all their help! My enthusiasm really began to wane during this and I don't think I would've been able to finish without your help. 
> 
> Some very nice [ art! ](http://billyxkaplan.tumblr.com/post/74186816755/illustration-accompaniment-to-brokendrums-good) by the lovely [ Jesse! ](http://himaryan.livejournal.com/)
> 
> Fair warning that there's a lot of scenes revolving around or involving food, it was sort of necessary when doing a MasterChef AU. That being said anyone who's here solely for the MasterChef elements - it might not be your cup of tea. Can I also just say that I _love_ that there's a MasterChef tag!

“Cooking does not get tougher than this!”

Niall knows it’s partly for the benefit of the cameras but Gregg Wallace sounds intimidating at the top of the room, especially to Niall whose biggest worry is that he won’t like his pudding. When he’s at home and watching it on the telly, those words normally make him excited but now, when he’s in the room with him and under the lights, it just makes his stomach flip over instead.

There’s a platter of ingredients in front of him and John’s talking now but Niall doesn’t listen, they’d been briefed beforehand by the producers and Niall knows exactly what he’s going to make. His fingers are itching to reach for the vegetable peeler and the bowl of apples are just calling out to him.

“Step one, Niall. Peel the apples and turn them into a yummy crumble with Mr. Rhubarb over there. Peel, peel, peel! Peel for victory.”

A boy to his left snorts and Niall whips his head around. The cameras are setting up again so they have a few minutes before the clock starts and the majority of the other contestants are scrambling about to get all the pots and pans they’ll need. Niall’s got the ones he needs, he just needs to make his palms stop sweating.

“Yes?” Niall asks him because he isn’t sure why the guy on the cooking station next to him isn’t scrambling about like the others. The pair of them look the complete opposite of the frenzy around them.

“Do you always talk to your food?” he asks and Niall’s stomach twists. He can feel his cheeks start to flush already and he ducks his head, clearing his throat. He thumbs at the edge of his chopping board, watching it wobble on the counter.

“Um.“ Niall thinks of a way to be witty but the cameras are panning around the room and it’s just his luck that one zeroes in on them now. Someone’s starting the clock. “Only when they say something to me first.”

The guy’s already turning away though, back to his own set of ingredients and pulling out the leg of lamb. He hardly looks like he had even uttered a word and Niall feels his hands start to shake as he turns back to his own hob, joke falling flat and why did he even open his mouth in the first place?

“So Niall,” John appears at his elbow, peering over Niall’s shoulder to look at his list of ingredients. Niall starts a bit and hopes it hasn’t been caught on camera. He has a feeling that he’ll be hoping that a lot over the next few weeks. “What are you making me?”

Niall beams at him, eyes flickering to the camera and the man on behind it. Gregg is lingering about, peering down at the apples and rhubarb that Niall’s brought into the middle of his table curiously and Niall gets a fresh wave of nerves.

“Uh,” Niall hesitates. He can’t stop thinking of the camera and how this is going to end up on TV and to top things off the mysterious boy at Work Station Four keeps peeking over and eavesdropping. Niall thinks that he should keep his mind on his own business. He’s waving about his leg of lamb and grinning at his own cameraman and Niall already hates him a little bit because he’s going to be a runaway success on screen and Niall’s going to be the babbling idiot that everyone feels sorry for.

“I’m going to make you a deconstructed apple and rhubarb tart with a Chantilly vanilla cream.” He beams at the camera again and he can nearly hear the producer sighing off to the side. He flicks his eyes abruptly back to John.

In front of him Gregg perks up, ignoring the fact that Niall‘s made another blunder with the camera. “You’re the only one doing a dessert in the room.”

Niall glances around, unnamed-as-of-yet boy is still working on the lamb, the man in front has hacked a broccoli to pieces, the granny at the back is fiercely chopping her way through a bag of potatoes and the women at the very front is hunched over a cheese grater - Niall isn’t sure why, there’s no cheese in their ingredients.

He tries to work it out quickly in his head, whether this is a good thing or if he’s at a disadvantage but Gregg keeps beaming at him so Niall gives in, swallowing roughly and hoping he’ll not feel so shaky soon.

“What do you do Niall?” John prompts and he knows it’s for the cameras again so he tries not to look at the one pointed directly at him or the crew looming behind, clipboards in hand and wires hanging out of their ears.

“I, uh,” he turns back to his apples because he’s wasting time not multitasking. He only has an hour and he’s aware of everyone else speeding up around him. He picks up an apple peeler and the steel is cool in his hand, weighty in the way the cheap one from Ikea at home isn‘t. “Uh, work in publishing.”

He thinks about his shitty job and nearly laughs that he’s said it. It’s not that running to get coffee and typing up letters is working in publishing but Zayn had told him to sell himself so he just rolls with it, spinning a tale of how office work had started to get boring and the publishing world just wasn‘t that attractive anymore. He’d rather be making pastry in a restaurant somewhere in France.

“And you thought you’d give cooking a go?” Gregg asks and Niall shrugs. He isn’t really sure why he’s here, other than the fact Zayn printed off the application form and filled everything out for him. He loves cooking and the pair of them watch the show every time it’s on but Niall doubted he’d be any good. Now he’s made this far though, now he’s standing in the red kitchen with everything spread out in front of him, he has the overwhelming desire to _win_.

“I love it,” Niall answers honestly, eyes flicking between the presenters and the food in front of him. “I love getting stuck in and creating something that will make someone feel good. The best way to get someone is through their stomach, right?”

He smiles at Gregg again, they look so at ease and Niall wonders how he compares, starting to sweat slightly under the glare of the lights. He turns back to skinning his apples, hands quivering as he peels the last apple and he quickly moves onto the rhubarb, pulling it apart roughly and trying not to listen to as they go to interview Lamb Boy.

“You like cooking puddings Niall?” Gregg asks on their second loop of the room. The lights are beginning to get to him and Niall wishes he hadn’t worn a long sleeved shirt as he spins around from the oven and starts whipping up his cream again. They have ten minutes left and Niall feels like he has a million and one things still to do.

He grins distractedly up at Gregg, wrapping a tea towel around his hand to juggle the tray with his toasted topping out of the oven.

“Yeah,” he answers honestly, dropping his tray on the counter to cool and going over to stir his stewing fruit. “I always do the desserts at home. I love sweet things.”

Gregg gives him another smile and Niall can see the excitement as his eyes trail over Niall’s half assembled dish. Niall reaches for the vanilla essence, fingers slipping over the lid as they disappear off to talk to the potato maker behind him. Niall gives his pot another stir and glances at the clock again, he’s running out of time.

“Three minutes!” Someone off to the side yells and Niall glances up, blinking in the bright light at everyone who’s gathered around the set. It’s mad that you don’t get to see this side of it on the TV, the amount of production that goes into it and Niall’s mesmerised for a moment before he snaps back to pooling his apples on top of the pile of rhubarb in the middle of the plate. The camera zooms past him again, arching around his table and spinning to get the boy in front, a perfect plate of delicious smelling lamb already set up and fit for the queen. Niall balances his piece of fluffy pastry on top and spoons cream into perfect quenelles for the side of the dish and drizzles some of the rhubarb jam around the edge of the plate.

Time is called just as Niall balances a curl of apple peel on top to make it look pretty. Zayn had warned him to make it pretty and Zayn is nearly an expert - he’s never missed an episode of Masterchef in all the years Niall has known him.

Niall takes a step back, shoulders tensing up as he glares down at his plate. It looks like it could tilt at any moment and he wonders if it’s all going to melt into a gloop under the harsh lights. Someone claps around him and lights shut out for a moment, a brief respite of cool as people flock in from the sides, washing up gloves snapped up over their wrists as they scour each bench clean in time for the judging. Niall steps back and watches them all in a bit of a daze, skirting around his plate as they wipe the counter. His heart is still hammering away in his chest and when he looks up and catches the eye of Lamb-Boy it only kicks up faster.

It takes the team less than five minutes to whisk dishes away into a washer and clean down the table tops until they’re shiny and new, allowing Niall to move back to his spot on the masking tape X behind the still warm oven. He places his hand to the side of his dish, feeling the warmth of it and watching the splodge of cream carefully as it melts into the side of the bowl slightly - he hopes he’s called first.

They leave him until last, naturally, and Niall waits, his thumb tucked in between his lips as he nibbles at the skin beside his nail and the other held taut behind his back so he doesn’t run a finger along the side of his dish again and smear more sweaty fingerprints over it.

He can nearly imagine it as his name is called over. A camera swings overhead and if he was at home, a couple of months from now he’d be sitting on his sofa and watching his hesitant face as he walks up to the front table. Gregg and John smile at him but Niall hardly notices, his mouth’s gone dry and he can hear the daunting BBC music in the back of his head as they unsheath their spoons and delve in.

John goes first, a mouthful, a frown and then a small smile.

“It tastes good,” he admits and Niall’s shoulders slump right down in relief. “I was worried about the tartness of the rhubarb and the sweetness of the apple but you’ve set it off perfectly with a hint of sugar and cinnamon and it goes really well with that cream.”

Niall manages a shaky smile and turns an inch to the left so he can watch as Gregg sinks his spoon into the rest of his pudding. He takes a huge bite and Niall has to remind himself to breathe because he takes _forever,_ chewing slowly with his eyes closed thoughtfully before his mouth quirks up into a proper smile.

“That’s absolutely wonderful Niall,” he beams and Niall’s chest nearly swells with the intake of breath he takes.

Gregg laughs and they run through a few more action shots to use later when they’re editing and Niall nearly skips back to his bench, mouth turning up into a grin that he knows will be caught on camera.

Afterwards, they’re ushered into the waiting room again and Niall collapses into one of the sofas and runs a hand through his hair. He wants to shower and turn back time, just to hear Gregg’s praise one more time. He grins to himself, rolling his neck along the back of the sofa before looking up as the door opens again.

It’s the boy with the lamb and Niall plasters his brightest grin onto his face. “Mate, that lamb looked great!”

He pulls a face and falls into the sofa beside him. Niall is finally able to see his name tag, _Harry._

Harry pulls a second face and Niall isn’t sure if it’s a smile or a grimace and when he clears his throat, Harry doesn’t look over at him. There’s a camera man over talking to one of the other contestants, reading questions off a sheet and Niall knows that this is the sound byte to cut back to while John and Gregg deliberate next door.

“I’m starving, I wish we could’ve ate what we had made,” Niall continues because nerves are starting to creep back into his stomach, rearing their head when he thinks of Harry’s lamb and how it was probably miles better than his dish. He wants to keep talking to keep his mind off the jittery feeling in his tummy but when he rolls his neck to glance over at Harry again he stops short when he sees his glare.

“Would kill for a bit of that lamb you made,” Niall grins at him and his glare only intensifies.

“Look,” Harry sighs and rolls his eyes for good measure. “I’m not here to make friends.”

Niall frowns and lifts his neck to look at him properly. He feels the balloon in his belly pop. “I was only striking up conversation.”

“Yeah, well,” Harry snorts and goes back to flicking through one of the recipe books that are sitting around the coffee table for decoration. “Don’t, because I don’t really want to get chatty to someone who won’t be here in the next round.”

Niall swallows. Even though he knows it’s all talk and he’s sure he’s done enough to get him through to at least the next challenge, Harry’s words are said with enough bite that he begins to doubt himself.

“You think highly of yourself then?” Niall asks, tone subdued enough that he hopes Harry catches his sarcasm. The smile he gets in return is nearly blinding and if he wasn’t pissed off enough, he is now because he looks cute when he grins like that.

“You said yourself.” Harry’s eyes glitter. “My lamb looked great.”

*

Niall groans and rolls onto his back. There’s a hand at the back of his knee, long fingers trailing over the skin there before it slides up a few inches to palm at the muscle of his thigh. Niall rocks back a bit, cock stirring against the mattress where he’s still half asleep and turns so he’s half on his side, duvet tangling around his waist. There’s a faint light in the corner and Niall blinks until he can see more of the room and the silhouette of who’s touching him.

“Hey,” Niall mutters, rolling properly onto his back when he sees it’s Harry. He’s nearly naked, down to his boxers, they're tight over his bum and probably low enough that Niall could see the cut of his hipbones and the trail of hair above them. He wets his lips because he’d quite like to nose his way down it and nip at his skin.

He isn’t sure how he knows because Harry’s wearing his Masterchef apron, but he’s sure that there’s a sheen to his belly and that underneath he sort of looks a bit like Zac Efron in a movie Zayn made him watch for purely scientific reasons. Niall doesn’t give it more than a passing thought because Harry’s climbing into bed now, sending him a blinding grin - bright and sharp, all for him. The bed is ridiculously soft and it doesn’t look like his bed but Niall spreads his limbs out anyway, curling his fingers around the fluffy pillow behind his neck and the cool sheet that’s pooled at his feet. Harry kicks at it and Niall shivers at the air circulating around his exposed skin but he doesn’t move except to widen his legs, making room for Harry to settle between his thighs.

There’s something cool on his skin a moment later, drizzled over his hip and up his belly. It’s wet and makes him shiver as he peers down to watch as Harry pours something over his chest. Where did he get that?

He stays quiet because Harry isn’t talking either, just a wry grin up at him from under his floppy hair before he bends and licks up over the trail, letting the clear splodge of, is that honey? settle on his tongue.

Niall sighs out, lifting a leg so he can bend his knee and wriggle his toes into Harry’s side. Harry grins at him, or at least he thinks he does, and ducks his head again, lapping up the sticky honey where it’s bristled in the hair trailing up his belly. He noses at his belly button, placing a kiss there before trailing up his chest, climbing up the bed on his knees until he can drizzle honey over his collarbones.

It’s cold and thick and makes Niall shiver, he rolls his hips up into Harry’s belly as he licks it up, tongue tickling over a nipple briefly before he clamps down on it, sucking and lavving over it until Niall’s about to go mad, fingers fisted in the sheets and not in Harry’s hair like he really wants to.

Niall makes a noise, loud and distant and Harry grins up at him slowly, lips red and glossy and sweet when he kisses him, honey dragging between their mouths and Niall can feel it smear against his cheek, cool and hard and -

“Wake up!” Zayn’s voice cuts through the fog in his brain and Niall sits up abruptly.

“What?” Niall asks himself and blinks blearily around at his surroundings. He’s in his kitchen, watery, early autumn light making it’s way through the blinds. He’s at the table, the counter a mess and there’s a puddle of honey where his face had been. His cheek is sticky and there’s a drop of it about to roll of his chin, it’s cloying in his hair and Niall’s still a bit foggy about what’s just happened.

“Keep your dirty dreams to your bedroom, yeah?” Zayn asks and Niall snaps his head to the side. He’s grinning at him, bowl of cereal in his hand and he’s dressed for work.

“Fuck,” Niall groans, pushing the heel of his hand down against his groin and Zayn pulls a face at the sight. He might blush a bit but Niall isn't paying enough attention for that right now, focusing on the ache between his legs instead.

“So, who’s Harry?” he asks, waggling his eyes and dribbling milk down his chin. Niall feels his face flush, even under the layer of honey. “I didn’t know,” Zayn continues, dragging his eyes over Niall’s appearance. “That honey did it for you.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Niall snaps but he’s too groggy for it to carry any weight. Zayn laughs again, stuffing the rest of his breakfast into his mouth and Niall frowns. “What time is it?”

“Time that you’re late,” Zayn comments. “It’s a Tuesday.”

Niall groans and lets his head fall back onto the counter, honey sticking his hair to his forehead, hiding his hot face against the wood. He tries to work it out - it's a Tuesday and he’s over an hour late for work if Zayn’s still pottering about with breakfast.

“This has been ringing all morning,” Zayn says and fishes his phone out of the breadbin. Niall vaguely remembers sticking it in there to stop distracting himself. He’s supposed to be working on something for this weekend, his second time back at the Masterchef kitchens but he’s having problems with getting his honey glaze just right. He had fiddled about with making a sabayon, maybe some sweet biscuits and a chocolate chilli tulle but Zayn had pulled a face when he first suggested it so he had ditched that idea and tried to look up recipes online but just ended up watching clips of John Whaite winning Bake Off. Why didn't he sign up to that cookery show? It looks miles easier than this one.

"I'll see you later then?" Zayn asks him, reminding him that he's still there.

"Yeah," Niall moans into the table, hand still gripped around his half hard dick. Zayn snorts over by the toaster and Niall can hear the swish of his coat and his footsteps and he doesn't lift his head until the door slams shut.

 

*

“Today’s task,” John announces from the top of the room. Niall takes a deep breath. He hasn’t been able to practise at all for this challenge and when he sneaks a glance around the room he’s glad that everyone else looks as nervous as he does. Apart from Harry that is. He looks as smug as ever, face blank except for the way his mouth has twisted up into a pleased smile.

“- five minutes to pick your ingredients and then an hour to prepare your dish.” John is finishing from the front and Niall blinks back at him. They have to pick their ingredients from the huge table at the side of the room and Harry is already half way over there, striding across the floor with his long legs, all clad in tight denim that Niall wants to rip off with his teeth.

He shakes his head and tries to focus, he can’t be thinking of getting in Harry’s pants when he’s over there getting his tomatoes on the vine.

There’s plenty of things on the table but he’s not sure what to make of them. He can nearly hear the tick of the clock in his head as he glances over the baskets of herbs and bowls of vegetables. Harry is pulling stems of thyme out of a little pot by his elbow and when he turns his head he smirks at him.

“Having trouble there? Performance anxiety?” he asks and then slinks off to fill his arms with the jar of flour.

“Two minutes!” One of the producers shouts and Niall panics, reaching out to grab the first vegetable close to him. It’s a broccoli and he isn’t really sure what he can do with it that would be special enough. The only thing spiraling through his head is his mother’s chicken and broccoli pie and the glint in Harry’s eye. He can’t serve up that though so he reaches for a few potatoes and chucks them into his basket before reaching for the piece of beef on the wooden chopping board.

“You needing that?” Harry pops up and Niall turns to look at him. His mouth drops a bit because he doesn’t have time for this but at the same time he can’t make his arms move. They just have to go an inch and he would be able to close his fingers around the chunk of meat there.

Harry smiles at him and it’s not the smug one from before, it’s full and Niall roams his eyes over his lips, the flush of them and maybe he’s bitten them a little while he’s been thinking of what to cook. Maybe the way he keeps pushing his thumb against the corner of his mouth has made them all red and how he keeps licking over them makes them all shiny like that.

“Are you waiting for them to speak to you?” Harry asks and he says it so casually that Niall could miss the fact that he’s making fun of him. Niall’s cheeks flood and he tries to think of a witty response. He’ll probably think of one in a weeks time but right now, he just stares at him, mouth opening like a fish as Harry’s mouth twitches into another smile. “Waiting for it to moo at you or something?”

Niall stares at him, mind going blank.

“Or is it only fruit that whisper to you?”

Niall’s getting hot under the collar and Harry flicks his eyes over his face, surely going crimson now.

“I’m just going to -” he murmurs and leans past him. Niall watches him dumbstruck, the way his arm moves under the rolled up sleeve of his shirt and the peek of a tattoo on his wrist, just under his watch strap - it’s a nice watch strap and then he’s curling his fingers around the beef and snatching it up for himself.

“Thanks,” he smiles at him and Niall snaps his eyes back up. The smirk is firmly back in place, like he knew all along how he’d be able to charm his way into getting the best bit of meat on the board.

“What - “ Niall mutters and he sounds dazed for a moment. “That’s my meat!”

Harry cackles, head thrown back and Niall flushes again. Harry twirls off to his station, basket full of great ingredients just as Gregg shouts that time is up.

Niall glances quickly around. He’s the only one still at the shelves and his basket is nearly empty. He closes his hand around the nearest bit of meat to him and scurries off to his station, trying to pretend that Harry isn’t watching him the whole way, lip tucked between his teeth.

From there it all gets worse.

Harry’s behind him and he can hear him hum over the murmur of the production staff and the hiss of bubbling saucepans. It’s distracting and no matter how many times he tells himself that Harry isn’t making farmyard animal noises it just sounds more and more like he’s _baaing_ at him. He glances over his shoulder at him and Harry raises his eyebrows so Niall pretends he’s glancing at the clock at the wall before turning back to his shoulder of lamb.

Harry switches to a jaunty tune then, melodic and annoying and sounding vaguely like Old McDonald. He tries to ignore it but when he starts joining in with the chorus in his head he has to turn and glare at him. Harry doesn’t looked fazed though, chopping his way through some shallots, face utterly relaxed like he doesn’t know how annoying he’s being. He spins his fork through one of his saucepans, pulling out a wind of spaghetti that he’s made with his flour and he tips his head back, eyes lingering on Niall’s and feeds the pasta into his mouth, throat looking lovely, all stretched out as he swallows.

“Want to taste?” Harry asks faux sweetly.

“Wouldn’t want to choke,” Niall retorts and Harry laughs brightly. Niall feels ridiculous, like he’s back in the playground. His mouth feels dry when Harry meets his eye. Niall feels frozen again but he thinks that the burning smell might be coming from his oven so he unglues his feet from the tiles below him and turns back to his stove.

It’s too warm under the lights and he can’t focus, he still needs to plate up but his hands keep shaking. Behind him, Harry’s picked up his tune again.

Niall clenches his fist around his spoon and tries not to turn round. He knows he’s teasing him and it’s infuriating, annoyance burning in the pit of his stomach. He’s probably got angels themselves to weave him his pasta, Niall thinks bitterly and turns his focus back to his own plate.

His broccoli stems look a bit wilted and he‘s sure the potato cake is overdone. It‘s definitely not his best work and hearing the moans and groans of John and Gregg over Harry‘s fucking pasta is not giving a huge confidence boost.

He smiles at the judges when they step up and takes a deep breath as the camera gets into place.

“Well,” John sighs once he’s taken his bite. Gregg is still trying to get a little bit of everything onto his fork. “Hmm, Niall. You haven‘t had a brilliant afternoon have you?”

Niall blinks at him and squeezes his fingers into a fist behind his back. His stomach won’t rest and he feels the back of his neck prickle with sweat.

“That’s an interesting sauce you’ve got going on there,” Gregg tells him once he’s swallowed and chewed. He’s looking at him pensively and he pokes at the brocolli with the end of the fork.

Niall winces.

“And it’s the only interesting thing on the plate,” Gregg continues and Niall wants him to be quiet and just let him slink out the door in peace. His stomach is sinking with disappointment and he brings a hand up to rub at the bridge of his nose, he can feel his eyes start to sting and there’s no way he’s going to cry in front of Harry Styles and his wonderful fucking angel hair pasta.

“The potato is bland, the vegetables are overcooked, there’s too much meat on that plate.” John lists and Niall wants to shrink into the cupboards he’s standing at.

“I think I panicked when I had to pick ingredients,” Niall blurts out and he sort of hates himself for speaking. From the corner of his eye he can see Harry, head bowed while he waits out the rest of the judging but even from across the bench, Niall can see the tell tale dimple and quirk of his smile. It makes him feel hot, an embarrassed flush working it’s way across his cheeks because he isn’t like this, making excuses for his crap work. If he’s honest, he wasn’t on his game today and his food just shows that.

John doesn’t look impressed, fork still raised but Gregg frowns a bit, looking down at his plate as if it’s going to miraculously transform into something beautiful.

“It’s not the best, no,” Gregg agrees and pauses again. Niall’s heart is in his throat and he can’t swallow around it. He sort of feels ill but he clasps his hands again, digging his nail into his palm. “But that sauce is definitely good. That shows some skill. Rich and deep with red wine. It’s a good sauce.”

Niall swallows and when he meets Gregg’s gaze he sees that it’s softened.

“Refine that meat, work on your presentation and it would’ve been a much better dish.”

Niall nods, eager to look like he’s taking in all the criticism they can give him.

Gregg gives him one last smile before they move off to the next bench and Niall feels his lungs deflate, shoulders slumping.

It takes them thirty minutes to deliberate, much longer than last time and Niall sits in the waiting room, curled into an armchair with his arm around himself. One of the other contestants starts to pace and Niall’s that jittery that he’d be up for joining him but Harry keeps catching his eye from where he’s sitting on the opposite side of the room, cookery book tucked between his knees and looking serene as he browses some recipes.

He watches him, the profile of his nose and how he’s got his bottom lip tucked into his mouth. The way his long fingers look as he turns the pages and how he frowns when he comes up against something he hasn’t seen before.

The doors open and Niall catches the way he freezes, shoulders tensing and fingers curling into fists and it makes Niall breathe out with relief because it may have been small but Niall caught it, the tiny tell that maybe Harry is just as nervous as he is.

They line up at the front of the kitchen and Niall’s watched this a thousand times on the TV before. He doesn’t touch Harry as they line up but he can feel the heat of his arm beside him, a few inches away and it would be easy to lean into him like this.

Gregg clears his throat and they look serious, standing in front of them waiting to break the news. Niall’s stomach is in bits, dread settling heavily in it.

“The person not going through to the next round,” Gregg announces and it seems so final. Niall takes a deep breath, feeling the way it burns down his throat and into his chest. His nails bite into his palms again and he’s sweating, dampness at the back of his collar.

“Richard.”

Niall’s breath leaves him audibly and he has to clamp his lips shut because that wasn’t his name. Harry deflates beside him, smile back on his lips when Niall glances round at him. He must look flabbergasted because Gregg laughs at him, striding over to clap him on the arm.

“Impress us next time,” he says and it’s half a warning. Niall nods and turns to shake Richard’s hand. He looks devastated and Niall feels guilty because he isn’t even sure what he had cooked, he’d been too preoccupied with his own dish and what Harry was up to behind him.

“So,” Harry’s voice says from over his shoulder and Niall turns to meet him. “You lived to cook another day then?”

His mouth is twisting up into a smile and Niall feels himself nod because Harry is so hard to work out if he’s taking the piss or if he’s being genuine.

Harry scrutinises him silently and Niall’s skin feels like it’s prickling.

“They must’ve seen something they liked,” Niall says and even as he’s saying he wants to shut himself up because that doesn’t sound like fighting talk at all. Harry smirks again.

“You’re only as good as your last meal,” he tells him and Niall isn’t sure if he’s supposed to take that as inspirational because it sounds more like a jibe where Niall’s standing.

“Yes,” Niall agrees hesitantly. He can feel his eyes narrowing but Harry only laughs, loud and sharp, face brightening. He shakes out his hair and then rakes a long hand through it. Niall snaps his attention back to Harry’s eyes.

“Good luck,” Harry tells him as he backs away and it doesn’t sound like well wishes at all.

 

*

“Are you going to use this in one of your recipes?” Zayn asks him critically from the doorway. Niall looks up at him and hopes his face conveys how miserable he feels. He wipes his greasy fingers on the side of the cushion and Zayn pulls a face.

“No,” he moans and looks back down at his plate. He’s half pulled apart a chicken and mostly it’s just the bones left. He picks up a piece of skin that’s gone crispy in the pan and chews on the end of it. Zayn pulls another face. Niall’s mildly aware of how disgusting he probably looks. He certainly feels it.

“Then why are you eating all this crap?” Zayn asks and picks up a bowl of half melted raspberry ripple ice cream - that one _had_ been a recipe idea but had turned to mush as soon as he tried to pair it with something. He probably got his timings wrong, he'll think about it later because he's too busy worrying about eating it at the minute to care.

“I thought we kept fried chicken and ice cream for break ups and humiliating mistakes in the bedroom?”

Niall shrugs, sucks on the end of the skin before he pulls it all into his mouth. He’s feeling a bit lightheaded because he drunk most of the beer he was supposed to be putting into his batter and then some.

“You’re really hung up on him aren’t you?” Zayn asks. “This Harry boy.”

“He’s just -”

“Just such a dickhead?” Zayn asks and slides onto the sofa beside him. Niall side eyes him because he’s sort of right and if it was the other way around Niall would be telling him to wise the fuck up. But he can’t, because there’s just something infuriatingly attractive about him.

“I don’t think he means it to be dickheadish though,” Niall complains and picks at a chicken leg. Zayn sighs beside him and reaches across to peel a bit of chicken off the bone. He’s still in his work clothes and Niall’s reminded that he should really go back to work if he’s going to make rent this month as well as buying a million ingredients to practise with.

“Well,” Zayn shoves the chicken into his mouth and loosens his tie with his free hand. “He sounds a dick to me.”

Niall sighs, shoulders slumping into the cushions Zayn’s sister had bought them when they moved in, they’re purple and garish with little tassels hanging off the corners that Niall likes to run through his fingers when he’s stressing out, he’s been doing it so much lately there’s hardly any thread left.

“But he’s so pretty,” Niall complains again and Zayn smirks, reaching across for the plate of chicken. Niall dumps into his lap, rolling away from the cushion so he can curl up against his side instead. “Make him stop, Zayn.”

“I’m pretty,” Zayn mumbles through a mouthful of chicken and Niall ignores the way he tenses up a bit, like he never meant to say anything at all. They’re silent for a moment and then Zayn says very quietly, “sorry.”

Niall nods against his arm but doesn’t look up, they hardly talk about the very brief few months where they tried to make something work between them. It had petered out into nothing but Niall knows that Zayn had been far more invested in the relationship than he had.

“Well he’s an idiot,” Zayn finally mutters, voice going gentle and sincere. Niall glances up at him, smiling behind the pillow he has clamped to his chest. Zayn glances down at him and then darts away, cheeks pinking up but pats at Niall’s head with his greasy fingers and smiles down at the plate of chicken anyway. They sit there for a moment and Niall wants to open his mouth and moan about how Harry is too pretty for his own good and it’s never going to work, being so close to him but not allowed to touch him.

Zayn shuts him up with a kiss. It’s light, just a brush across the edge of his mouth but Niall freezes all the same. He can’t lie and say that he doesn’t think about it sometimes, how easy it was between them before it got hard and he’s not an idiot, Zayn’s hot and there and his dick is definitely interested in another kiss but he knows that he can’t do this, he can’t pull at Zayn and give him hope that there’s something more between them anymore.

“Zayn,” he breathes and Zayn screws his face up.

“I know,” he sighs out and sits back. He looks as miserable as Niall feels.

“Sorry,” Niall is the one apologising now and he reaches for the chicken again, pushing it into Zayn’s hand and patting at the bone of his wrist like it’s the only place he can touch him now. “I’ve got more ice cream for after, don’t worry.”

Zayn humphs a sigh and doesn’t try to pull Niall into a cuddle again. It’s not awkward exactly but there’s just enough stilt to their body language that shows they can’t work past it just yet.

Niall tilts across the sofa again, pushing his arm up against Zayn’s bicep deliberately.

“Do you think I could dazzle the judges with my fried chicken?” Niall asks lightly and Zayn laughs, picking apart a leg. He stills a hand and pats Niall’s knee jerkily.

“Absolutely not,” he laughs and it’s just as bright as before. He bites into a bit of chicken and sighs, lifting his arm until Niall can fit in underneath it again and Niall smiles into the fabric of his shirt.

 

*

 

The next heat comes round far too quickly in Niall’s opinion. It’s rainy outside the window when Zayn pops his head through his door, shirt half buttoned and showing off his toned chest.

“I thought you’d be up doing last minute run throughs!” Zayn announces to him once he sees that his eyes are open. “What are you doing, get out of bed!”

“I can’t,” Niall snuffles into his pillow and clamps his eyes shut. “I’m not going to get through.”

Zayn tuts and grabs his hand to tug him out of bed. “Let’s go, I’ve tasted far too many of your concoctions to let you just give up now.”

Niall smiles at him, blinking the last of the sleep out of his eye as Zayn looks him over fondly.

“You’ll be great,” he tells him sincerely and darts in for a quick hug. It’s warm and familiar in a way that Niall had forgotten about and when Zayn pulls away he finds himself grinning.

“Thanks,” he mutters and shivers in the morning air. Zayn grins at him again and turns to the mirror, checking himself out and fixing his hair before he turns to leave the room. “I’ll see you later,” he promises. “You’ll kill it, Niall.”

Niall takes the tube to the studio, running through his menu in his head the whole way there. He’s early and and it only makes him more nervous. He watches as the other contestants filter in. There’s a few he’s never met before, the heats narrowing down as the competition continues on but about ten minutes before they’re due to start Harry slips through the door, hair coiffed up high and a grin fixed firmly in place. He glances around the room, eyes skittering to a stop when he finds Niall across the room. The guy Niall’s speaking to doesn’t seem to mind that Niall’s basically dropped off mid sentence. Harry smiles in recognition and Niall tries with all his might not to analyse whether it was a nice smile or Harry being Harry.

Harry ends up at the station in front of him. He’s wearing a royal blue shirt that cuts across his hips perfectly and of course those dark jeans that look like they’re painted onto him. Niall’s mouth is nearly watering at the sight of him, following the curve of his bum as he bends down to get a saucepan from the bottom cupboard and the way his broad shoulders stretch out the blue. He doesn’t know how he’s going to last the whole afternoon though, the kitchen is so hot when they’re all working together and Niall sweats under the lights so he’s changed out of his jumper into a flimsy tank top Zayn must have shoved into the bottom of his bag when he wasn’t looking.

It hangs loose down his ribs and he knows that he’ll probably show off far too much of his nipples to the nation but he can’t stand how warm he gets when the pressure is hiked up. His apron comes high enough up his chest that most of the nip slips should go unnoticed but he can just imagine what his mum‘s going to say.

They’re starting in thirty minute shifts, Helen, the little woman from Glasgow is already about to serve her main dish - Niall gets to peer at her plates on the way past and he’s not too intimidated by her sticky ribs and peppered rice. Harry in front of him is mixing something in a huge bowl, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his hair wilting down over his forehead. He looks stressed and Niall’s torn between a vindictive spike of glee at his exasperated expression or feeling sorry for him.

He doesn’t get long enough to spy on him because Gregg’s already approaching his counter and Niall grins, pulling his apron over his head.

“Niall!” he announces and slaps a hand down on the counter. “What are you cooking for us today?”

This is it, the underlying panic that’s been floating about in the pit of his belly flares up just after one question.

Niall takes a deep breath to steady himself, “I’m hopefully going to do you all some crab ravioli in a shellfish bisque with some parmesan foam.” Niall ties the loop in his apron and glances up to gauge Gregg’s expression. From the corner of his eye he can see that Harry’s angled around to the side and is listening in too. There’s a fresh stab of panic, dull at the bottom of his stomach as he blinks at the array of raw ingredients in front of him - they all have to be four plates of perfectly presented food in an hour and fifteen minutes.

“And to finish?” Gregg asks him, eyes already lighting up at the prospect of Niall’s dessert. Niall feels a jolt of confidence.

Niall picks up a pear. “I’m going to poach one of these with some cardamom and a cinnamon chilli syrup.”

Gregg raises his eyebrows and claps his hands. “You better get cracking then son!”

Niall offers him one last grin before he turns back to the table. He’s practised this more times that he count at home the last week and it’s become second nature to him. He doesn’t want a repeat of last time. His stomach drops anytime he thinks about tthat, the way Gregg had frowned and the feeling of dread when he waited for his name to be called out. He needs to impress them today and he’s practised it all down to the last second.

He rinses some of the shellfish and starts to pick apart the crab. He thinks back to his list and methodically works through it, sifting the flour and mixing it into dough. He pushes his fingers through it and tries not to stare at Harry's shoulders in front of him as he does it. He seasons his langoustines and puts them on to boil, chopping some onion and blinking through the wetness in his eyes.

It’s when Niall’s peeling the pears everything goes wrong. His meal is fine, the pasta rolled out and ready to be boiled and the bisque simmering quietly on the stove.

It’s Harry’s that turns to shit.

He’s already got his main away, three plates of mushroom crusted halibut that smelt amazing and by the faces John and Gregg were pulling up at the front of the room, tasted amazing too.

“Fuck!” Harry swears over the loud crash of his bowl tipping over the edge of the bench and shattering across the floor. Niall freezes, vegetable peeler hanging in his hand as he takes in the scene. Everyone in the room takes a shocked breath and then there’s a whirl of commotion. The camera crews are closing in on him and everyone else in the room is watching on bated breath to see what Harry does next. John rounds the corner of the judging table and makes his way down the kitchen towards him.

“What happened?” he’s asking but Niall’s already around the front of his own counter and kneeling down to meet Harry’s eyes. He’s dropped to his knees, foamy, gooey marshmallow mousse soaking into the front of his jeans and he has a palm frozen pressed against his forehead.

“It’s ruined,” he moans, shoulders slumping in defeat as he looks down at half of his dessert sprawled across the floor.

“What was it supposed to be?” Niall asks but Harry doesn’t answer him. Niall asks him again and tugs on his elbow to pull him up. Harry looks up at him distractedly before he turns back to his sorry looking dessert. It just looks like a splodge on the middle of the floor. “Harry!”

Harry snaps his head to the side and starts, as if only realising that it’s actually Niall there. He frowns at him, eyebrows dipping and Niall can see the despair in his expression. Harry clears his throat and looks up at the producers and cameramen huddled around his table. “How long have I got?”

“Nine minutes,” John supplies with a glance at the clock. Harry groans quietly to himself and looks nervously down at his food again. Otherwise he isn’t moving though and Niall can feel his stomach drop at the thought of Harry just giving up. He jumps to his feet, pushing at Harry’s shoulder to try and get him to react too. There’s enough of the marshmallow left in a tray, spongey and gooey and perfect, to be split across the four plates - it looks pathetic, half the size it was supposed to be and a little bit bashed but it’ll have to do because Harry looks like he’s close to another breakdown. He’s managed to pull himself up onto his feet now though, that’s a plus.

“How am I supposed to serve this?” he asks to himself, poking forlornly at the square in the middle of the plate. Niall rolls his eyes, nudging him in the arm again, trying to ignore how warm his skin is and turning to hand him the tray of honeycomb that he had watched Harry pour nearly forty minutes ago instead. It's perfectly set now, golden and bubbly and smelling sweet.

“Harry, snap out of it, you have to get this plated.” Niall picks up a pot of cream and pours some into a bowl. He finds a whisk somewhere and starts to beat it quickly. “Break that into pieces and start making some sugar cages, c‘mon, you‘ve practised this. I know you've practised this."

He doesn't actually. He imagines Harry labouring away in his kitchen just like Niall has for the past fortnight. Strapped up in his crisp white apron and hopefully nothing else.

Niall tightens his fingers around the spoon in his hand, knuckles going white and the steel of the spoon slipping in his sweaty palm. He needs to focus but the pound of his heart is making his hands tremble.

Harry blinks at him but Niall shakes his head clearing it and reaching for the rest of the raspberries Harry had set aside instead. He tips half of them into the blender at the end of the counter with some sugar, hoping that they don’t take too long to reduce down. The sound must jostle Harry because from the corner of his eye he can see Harry kick into action, a swift hand running through his fringe, fingers clenching into the extra hair there before he‘s tipping sugar into a pan of his own to turn into caramel.

He blocks out the cameras and he forgets about John and Gregg and half the production staff whispering around them and gets on with it. It’s easy to whip up the cream and pour in half of the sauce once it’s runny, watching as it turns a pale pink with every beat of his arm before spinning on his heel to reach across and turn down his bubbling bisque and plop his pears into a saucepan. When he turns back again Harry’s got hot sugar laced over the back of four bowls and he’s cutting fine squares out of the honeycomb. His hand is shaking too but he grips at his wrist and tries to steady it. Niall’s heart thumps into his throat making it hard to swallow.

“This needs to be on plates now boys,” Gregg reminds them and Niall reaches for the cream and a spoon. They work down the bench, a piece of pink gooey marshmallow and then a dollop of Niall’s cream, Harry’s perfect square of honeycomb and then a drizzle of the remaining raspberry puree.

Harry wipes down the sides of the plates with the edge of his apron and manages to balance three plates in his wide hands before setting off towards the door to the dining room. It’s silent for a split second, the buzz of the lights and the hiss of his bubbling saucepans quiet after the door bangs shut behind him and then Niall takes a deep breath, flashing a smile at the cameraman before he turns and gets back to his ravioli.

“How much time have you lost?” Gregg’s on him as soon as Niall’s back behind his own oven. His pears are bubbling nicely and he shakes some more spice into the pan along with an extra splash of cider.

“Not much,” Niall shrugs even though he knows he’ll be pushed for time now. He needs to whip up his own cream and start making his ravioli. When Niall glances up again he sees Harry re-enter the kitchen, face pink and hair a messy disarray on the top of his head, cameramen swarming him. He looks exhausted and offers a weak smile at John and Gregg as they take his final plate of dessert off his hands to taste in front of the cameras at the top of the room.

He doesn’t look over at Niall but Niall doesn’t have the time to think about it anymore. He flattens out his pasta, rolling it into his pasta maker, pulling it through his fingers until it’s thin and wide and ready enough to be filled.

Harry paces a few steps in front of his station, pulling at his hair until a producer leads him out of the room where he’ll be no doubt interviewed endlessly, soundbite after soundbite.

Niall knows they’ll want to speak to him too. He barely knows Harry and in the spirit of the competition they’re playing he shouldn’t probably have helped. Harry certainly isn’t helping Niall now.

“Two minutes, Niall,” John calls from the end of the bench. Niall blinks, fingers shaking as he sets his dishes onto the steel counter of his bench. They’re spotless, perfectly clean and Niall doesn’t want to smudge them up too much but he doesn’t even have time to wash his hands properly. He spoons out his ravioli from the saucepan, taking care to drain it properly before ladling it into the puddle of sauce in the middle of his bowl.

It’s daunting, the walk into the critics dining room and they all survey him through narrow eyes as he sets the plates onto the table. He nearly trips on his way out and Gregg grabs his elbow just out the door.

Harry’s gone by the time he gets back to his bench but he doesn’t have time to think about, using the next ten minutes to plate his dessert, a perfect single pear in the middle of his dish.

Gregg is practically salivating beside him and Niall laughs, letting him taste his syrup and giving him a nip of the cream.

Jay Rayner is smiling when he next enters the room and Niall nearly drops his plates in shock. He waggles his eyes at Gregg when he comes out, shoulders finally untensing as he rolls his neck.

“Well it’s done now,” Niall grins at them and pushes his way into the waiting room. He tries not to worry what the critics will say, it’ll be months until he finds out presumably. He all but collapses into his armchair and when he glances up, Harry offers him a smile and he counts that as a win already.

*

“I just need a drink,” Harry mutters as Niall pushes his way out of the main doors. Harry had sort of shadowed him on his way out and when Niall looks to the side he can see how he looks shattered, hands shaking as he wipes at his mouth but his eyes are sparkling like he can’t believe it. “I was so sure I was going after ruining my dessert.”

Niall nods numbly, he can’t believe he’s still there either. It’s not really sinking it, everything’s just a buzz behind his eyes - the critics loved it, the critics _loved_ it. He’s wrecked and he should sleep but he doesn’t think he’ll be able to sleep for days, running off the leftover dregs of adrenaline.

Harry turns to him this time, smile growing across his face and Niall can’t help grinning back at him.

“Feels great doesn’t it?” Niall asks him and it’s there again, that zinging across his shoulders and down his spine.

Harry nods and pauses. The street’s nearly empty, even for this time of the day and it’s just quiet enough that their conversation is verging on awkward territory. He feels childish, trying to drag it out so he can spend more time with him but they rarely get a minute off camera to chat and he wants to make the most of it.

“Do you want -” Harry cuts himself off and when Niall turns to look at him he catches the last of his wince to himself. He looks nervous, like he isn’t sure how to phrase it and Niall hopes that his face doesn’t look too expectant.

“Do you wanna go for a drink?” he asks and clears his throat. “I should probably thank you properly, for helping me out. I was a goner, if you hadn’t stepped in.”

“Oh,” Niall smiles again and Harry looks a smidge less nervous. “Yeah, sure we can.”

Harry nods and steps out onto the pavement. “I think there’s a pub down at the corner of the street? Or do you want to go somewhere else?”

“No,” Niall shakes his head because he wouldn’t be able to co ordinate going somewhere else because his palms are starting to sweat and all he can see is the loose collar of Harry’s shirt and his mind is going blank. “Wherever you want to go.”

Harry smirks and Niall’s reminded sharply of how cocky he is in the kitchen. It’s still there, that harsh competitive edge to him, quick like he could snick at him at any moment. It’s a bit thrilling on this side though, now that he’s allowed to speak to him. Like he’s allowed to enjoy this side of him now.

They walk down to the end of the road quietly, Niall running through his head to try and think of something to say. He doesn’t want to bring up the competition again because it’s all getting repetitive but he can’t think of much else that isn’t terribly inappropriate. He wants to pick at Harry’s brain and ask if he likes the Eagles or if he plays an instrument. He wants to know how Harry does his hair like that and how he can make his pasta so thin that it doesn’t break and maybe if he likes to kiss boys.

Harry doesn’t seem to mind the silence, looking completely at ease as he walks them down the path.

The bar is modern and attached to a hotel so it’s busy for this time of the day, too late for lunch but early for dinner. Harry holds the door open for him and Niall can feel himself blushing already. There’s music somewhere and it’s loud enough to drown out the din of conversation and Harry walks over them through the table area until they can get to the bar. He orders them both beers and Niall lets him, appreciating how he doesn’t fuss with a drinks order.

They grab a booth in the corner, there’s a window backing onto it but the dreary autumn weather means that there’s nothing to look at, outside already going dark. It makes inside feel more cosy and Niall shrugs off his coat because there’s a fire at one side of the room and it’s warm this close. Harry watches him, licking over his lips and pulling at his bottle of beer. Niall watches him lick up a drop of beer off his bottom lip and snaps his eyes up again, feeling like he’s been caught.

Harry just smiles at him though, relaxing into the leather of the booth. He’s sitting in the middle of it so they’re not really sitting opposite each other and Niall’s knees keep knocking into the side of Harry’s thigh.

“So,” he starts off quietly. The song changes above them, something jazzy and upbeat and Niall bends his head to hear Harry better. “You got anything planned for the next stage?”

Niall shrugs. He has plenty of ideas but nothing that he’s tried out yet. He’ll have to get Zayn into the kitchen and feed him a thousand things before he can decide that. He hasn’t been thinking that far ahead yet.

“I was thinking of trying out a dessert,” Harry says and there’s a glint in his eyes. Niall sips at his beer. It’s nice and cool but settles heavy in his stomach with the way Harry’s looking at him. “Something sweet and syrupy and -”

“Sexy,” Niall supplies. Harry grins at him.

“Something sexy,” Harry nods and drains his beer. “You seem to be an expert in that department.”

Niall feels his neck heat up.

Harry’s voice slows nearly to a drawl. “Something hot and rich and sugary.”

Harry’s knee knocks into his again and Niall tries not to press against it. He can feel how warm Harry is beside him with the way his leg is so close.

“That would make your mouth water just even thinking about it.”

Harry’s voice is so low that Niall nearly shivers. He looks down at the grain of the wooden table and picks at the side of the label of the beer bottle to do something with his hands. They’re shaking a bit and Harry’s knee knocks against his again, shifting against his and pressing up beside it. It makes Niall widen his legs a bit unconsciously, trying to stay close to the point of Harry’s knee but then he’s moving again, pushing his knee in between Niall’s thighs. Niall picks at the foil and risks a glance up. Harry’s staring at him, eyes narrowing slightly and Niall has to drink his beer to keep his mouth from drying up.

“Maybe something that’ll melt in the middle?” Harry suggests and then his hand is on Niall’s knee. Niall tries not to jerk too violently but he hadn’t been expecting it and when he glances up at Harry again his expression hasn’t changed, he’s still smiling at him softly, mind on his dessert.

“Soft and velvety, maybe dark chocolate.”

Fingers squeeze around Niall’s kneecap.

“So it’s thick and hot on your tongue. It’ll stick to the corner of your mouth, sharp and warm.”

His palm slides up the inside of his thigh.

“And the back of your teeth, where you have to tongue it off, to sweep it away and you’ll be tasting it for hours afterward, bitter and rich against your teeth and the inside of your cheeks.”

Niall isn’t sure what they’re even talking about anymore. He’s just trying to focus on not bucking up into Harry’s hand as it moves steadily up his leg, a thumb against the inseam of his jeans. Harry’s nearly pressing his lips against him, he’s leaning over the table and he’s so close that Niall can feel the brush of his breath against his jaw. He wants to tip his chin forward, just to see what he’d do but he can’t, he’s paralysed by the thought that if he moves he’ll break whatever Harry’s doing to him.

Niall takes another drink of his beer and there’s hardly any left. Harry seems to notice, lips turning up into another smirk. His fingertips trail over the top of his thigh, far too light over the denim of his jeans to feel anything but a tease. If he goes up an inch he’ll be veering very close to the hot line of Niall’s dick, pressing too hard against the zip of his jeans.

“I’m going to go to the toilet,” Harry announces, too bright for how low his voice had been a moment ago and Niall’s hand jerks as he sets his bottle down. His palm is gone from his leg and Harry’s moving himself, shifting around the booth to escape out the other side.

Niall feels suddenly cold on one side, shivery in a way that’s only half down to the throb of his dick.

He opens his mouth to say something but he’s scared that all he can do is whimper in response. Harry keeps his eyes on him as he shuffles to his feet. He takes a step and then bends down, a hand in front of Niall against the table and he’s looming over him, pinning him against the back of the booth in a way that makes Niall’s insides turn to jelly.

“That,” Harry whispers against his ear. “Was an invitation by the way.”

And then he’s gone, disappearing through the early drinks crowd towards the doors beside the bar. Niall takes a deep breath and tries to keep everything straight in his head. His dick throbs again and he pushes the heel of his hand against it under the table. No one’s looking near him but he feels a hot spike at how there’s so many people around and how Harry basically propositioned him at a table in a semi crowded bar. He pulls his t-shirt down and hopes that no one looks too closely at his crotch before he gets to his feet, he’s a bit wobbly and he tries to keep his eyes locked on the door in front of him, cheeks flaring up at the thought of someone realising how hard he is and it only makes him harder.

The other side of the room seems like an age away but he finally pushes through the door into the lemony bleachy smell of the bathroom. It’s nice, nicer than most bars and the doors to the stalls are wooden and fancy.

That’s all he gets to see before Harry has him pressed up against the wall.

“You took your time,” he growls against him and Niall shivers again because he wasn’t like this outside at all. The reserved sexy drawl is gone and Harry’s nearly desperate with it now that they’re away from the prying eyes of others. He groans against him and that’s when Niall realises that he’s just as hard as he is. Rutting into Niall’s hips before they even get the chance to kiss.

“You’re so hot when you go red,” Harry mutters against him and Niall flicks his eyes up, catching Harry’s and they’re more grey than green this close. He can feel himself blushing more but then Harry grinds against him just right and Niall opens his mouth, letting out the moan he’d been biting his tongue on for the past ten minutes.

“Fuck,” he breathes out and tips his head forward. He’s going to go for a kiss but Harry just grins at him wickedly and pulls away, Niall’s lips smearing against the slope of his jaw.

Harry laughs breathlessly and ruts against him instead, hands going down to brush against his hips as he tugs at Niall’s t-shirt. He pushes it up, pulling open his jeans quickly, like they’ve done this before and Niall thunks his head back against the tiles of the bathroom. They’re not even in a cubicle and it makes Niall want to roll his hips, push up to where Harry’s hands are so he can get them pressed against his dick instead of his belly at the mere thought that someone could walk in on them like this.

There’s a mirror behind Harry and he can see his back, the way he stretches out the shirt he’s wearing and how his waist narrows down until it’s just the firm round of his bum through the fabric of his ratty jeans. Niall palms at it because he can, testing out Harry’s boundaries but Harry only presses against him tighter, snuffling a groan against Niall’s throat.

He bites there, pulls at the skin a bit and Niall rolls his head, allowing Harry to get at his neck properly, just below his Adam’s apple. It’s going to pink up, go red under the worry of his teeth but Niall doesn’t care because it’s Harry’s lips, finally on him with a purpose.

He sucks there for a moment, grinding hotly against his hip before he drops elegantly to his knees and Niall’s mind goes blank.

“Oh,” he breathes out and Harry grins up at him again, cheeky and bright, lips red and wet.

“I’m thanking you good and proper, y’know,” Harry tells him and brings his attention back to his groin, pushing up the hem of his t-shirt so he can bite at his belly, worry the skin there like he’s just done to his neck, so Niall has a matching lovebite just above his dick.

Niall groans and he feels like he wants to stamp his feet the way they’re tingling. Harry grins against his skin and he can’t wait to kiss it off him. He pulls down Niall’s underwear slowly, licking along the skin he reveals, scraping his teeth down over the dust of hair there.

He trails his mouth over his dick, mouthing lazily where he’s pushing out the waistband of his boxers, tongue wet against the head through the material. Niall groans again and he’s being far too loud. He has to keep reminding himself that there are people at the other side of the door, that they shouldn’t be doing this here and Harry’s going far too slowly for this to work.

The first touch of his tongue against his skin makes his knees shake and Harry reaches up, pressing his thumb against the side of his hip like he knows he’s one step away from crumpling down onto the floor along with him. He plays with the head of his dick for a moment, tongue fluttering against the flushed tip before he wraps his lips around him, red and stretched around him perfectly. He rolls the tip of his tongue under the head before licking up just to taste him and Niall’s transfixed at the way Harry’s eyelashes flutter, like he’s getting off just as much as Niall is.

“Fuck,” Niall swears and he has to push his hand against Harry’s the side of his face, feeling the press of him through his cheek where Harry’s sucking at him in earnest now. His other hand is a death grip around the door handle, knuckles going white and it’s partly to keep himself upright and partly to make sure no one barges right in.

Harry jacks a hand loosely around him at the same time, rings cold against his skin but he’s sucking him down until his mouth reaches his fingers and he stays there, swirling his tongue around him and licking up over the vein on the underside of his dick and Niall has to let go of the door to get his hand on his face again, holding him still as he comes, curling over Harry’s head and groaning out long and loud.

Harry laughs around him, making Niall shiver and he feels the movement of his throat against his thumb as he swallows him down.

“Christ,” Niall breathes as Harry pulls off and he has to melt down to the floor then, his legs feeling impossibly liquid.

Harry grins at him slowly and he licks his lips, tongue worming its way out to lap at the corner of his mouth.

“That was quite a thank you,” Niall mutters and he doesn’t know if they’re doing this coy game anymore but Harry just smiles, preening a bit under his praise and Niall wants to kiss him again, gather the taste of himself out of his mouth but he doesn’t, just scrambles his hands against the bulge of Harry’s boxers where his jeans are gaping open.

Harry brings a hand up to clench around Niall’s bicep as he pulls him off. They keep eye contact and it’s intense, too magnetic to let Niall bend over and take him into his mouth so he doesn’t, opening his mouth to pant out of instead as he runs his fingers over the flushed head of Harry’s dick as the other twists around him.

Harry drops a hand to his groin, fingers pushing into the skin just at the base of his dick as Niall speeds up his hand, the other rucking up Niall’s shirt again so he can press his thumb into the bruise on his tummy. He widens his thighs, pushing his knees into Niall’s until they’re pressed together, awkward but still tight together on the floor.

He leans over, rolling his forehead against Niall’s shoulder and he grunts out lowly as he comes, spattering over their hands and spotting Niall’s belly, missing his t-shirt by an inch.

“Shit,” Harry breathes against him, rolling his head on his shoulders so he can catch Niall’s eye and it’s the most unguarded Niall’s seen him. He can finally see the softness of his eyes and the slight of his smile and it’s lovely. Niall wants to push his face into the curve of his shoulder and lap at the skin there and he wants to kiss him silly and wrap him up in his arms and keep him close.

Harry blinks dopily at him for a moment before he pulls away and pushes himself to his feet. He clings onto the sink for a moment before he turns around, holding a hand out to pull Niall to his feet too.

His hands are warm and big and his thumb slips between Niall’s fingers for a moment until Niall’s on his feet, a bit unsteady but at least upright.

The door opens and Harry laughs, spinning around to the sink before the person sees that his fly is undone. Niall can feel his face heat up because it’s so obvious what they’ve been up to and if the guy had just walked in a few moments earlier he would’ve seen them properly. He shuffles over to the sink and sticks his hands under the tap, trying to ignore the feeling of eyes on the back of his neck but when he glances up he catches Harry’s eye in the mirror and can’t help but grin slyly back at him.

Harry shakes his hair out, running a damp hand through it and he zips up, not as discreetly as Niall does before he pushes the door open for them to slink back into the bar.

“Another beer?” Harry asks, already stepping towards the bar. Niall nods. He still feels a bit breathless, heart beating hard in his chest at nearly being caught and the muscle memory of Harry’s lips around the top of his dick. Niall nearly misses a step when Harry runs his tongue over his lips again and pulls out his wallet, easy as that.

 

 

*

Zayn narrows his eyes from the doorway. “You’re up early.”

Niall nods, keeping his head down and focusing on the way the whisk cuts through the cream. It’s nearly the right consistency, fluffy enough but still velvety smooth. There’s an electric mixer on the counter that his mam bought him for Christmas last year - Greg had laughed and Niall had appreciated it but there’s just something more satisfying about the ache in his arm after he hand whisks something _just_ right.

“Or have you been to sleep yet?” Zayn snaps him back to the present and Niall finally peeks up. His expression must give it away, something around his eyes, because Zayn’s crumples into a frown. “You need to start going to bed.”

“I just toss and turn,” Niall defends himself and scoops a perfect glob of cream onto the plate. He’s been getting better at spooning it out the bowl, curving it with another spoon until it’s a perfect egg shaped blob on the plate.

Zayn pushes past him with a huff and sticks his hand into the bread bin. Niall sprinkles a few chocolate shavings over the plate and produces it to him with the unspoken order to taste as he sticks two slices of granary into the toaster.

Zayn surveys him for a moment, like he’s going to resist before he reaches for one of the spoons on the counter. “What is it this time?” Spoon poised over the still warm chocolate ramekin.

“Fondant,” Niall breathes. He can feel the lack of sleep catching up on him and maybe next time he should tip it out of the ramekin. He’s going to have to nip to the shop to get more chocolate if he’s going to practise again before lunchtime. “With a lime syrup and a coconut cream.”

Zayn raises an eyebrow before he dips his spoon in. Niall watches closely, it pushes through the top and into the gooey centre like he had hoped. Niall sighs out relieved, shoulders sagging as he lets Zayn grip the plate by himself, resting his bum against the messy counter.

“Well?” Niall demands when Zayn takes his time, scooping up a bit of cream before smearing it through the perfectly placed drips of lime sauce. Niall hates him for ruining his hard work on the presentation but can’t blame him - last week he had shouted at him for not eating it like Gregg would do. Zayn had refused to eat anything in front of him all day because Niall couldn’t stop staring.

He watches his expression carefully as he pops the spoon into his mouth and his stomach sinks when he winces.

“Oh God,” Niall mutters sadly and reaches for the plate so Zayn doesn‘t have to eat any more. “It’s terrible. _Fuck_ , don’t force yourself.”

“No,” Zayn shakes his head, mouth still full of sticky chocolate. The toast is burning but Niall and Zayn ignore it, having a tug of war over the plate instead. Zayn keeps his grip tight on the edge as Niall tries to wrestle it from him to chuck in the bin. “Just brushed my teeth.”

“Oh,” Niall perks up and lets go of the plate. Zayn staggers a bit, setting the plate down, swallowing the last of the chocolate and popping his toast. It’s singed around the edges, crusts blackened but he sets it down on the counter anyway.

“Here,” Niall pushes a block of butter towards him and goes into the fridge. “You can taste my strawberry and ginger jam while you’re at it.”

When Niall turns back around from the fridge Zayn is looking at him with a fond expression. “Go to sleep Niall.”

Niall doesn’t say anything, just blinks away the grainy feeling behind his eyes and walks across the kitchen with the jar of jam he made at the weekend. The kitchen had smelt like a fruit shop for days.

“Does it taste good?” Niall asks him instead and slides the jar across the granite towards him. Zayn flicks his eyes over him and then with an expression akin to pity he dives a knife into the jam.

“The chocolate was good,” Zayn critiques tiredly, cocking his head as he looks down at the knife before smearing the red over a slice of his toast. “There wasn’t enough coconut in the cream and maybe more of the lime,” he pauses and glances up with a small grin. “It’s zingy.”

“Zingy?” Niall laughs and it sounds a smidge too hysterical given how long he’s been up. It doesn’t feel like he’s sat up all night making chocolate desserts. He’s going to weigh a tonne after this competition. Niall grins at him. “Zingy’s good. They like zingy on the show, don‘t they?”

Zayn matches his grin and pulls him in suddenly to his chest. Niall lets out a huff of a breath and lifts his hands into the air, flapping them out to the side.

“Got chocolate on m’fingers,” he explains when Zayn huffs into his neck, trying to cuddle him tighter.

Zayn tuts, pulling him closer and pressing a light kiss to his temple. His lips feel sticky and Niall sighs at the feel of it.

“The jam?” he asks sagging into Zayn’s shoulder, feeling a sudden wave of tiredness. It is nearly eight am and he’s reaching the twenty four hour point.

“This was supposed to be a cuddle,” Zayn chastises. “No food talk in The Cuddle. I thought we had agreed.”

Niall grins and snuffles against the fabric of Zayn’s jumper. There’s something musky underneath the collar of his shirt and when Niall closes his eyes he thinks it smells of Zayn and a little bit of Harry. It’s nice and Niall could bury himself into his neck and sleep for a week now he thinks about it.

He can’t though - he’s got more coconut to grate and a new lime syrup to make and he has to decide if he’s actually going to make this on Friday when he’s back at the MasterChef kitchens.

He pulls back and offers Zayn a brave smile.

“Tidy up,” Zayn mutters and pushes at Niall’s shoulder with a grin. “And go to bed.”

“Ok,” Niall nods and shakes himself. The kitchen is a mess. There’s chocolate everywhere and the splash of coconut milk all over the kitchen tiles has turned sticky because it’s been there for hours. Zayn snorts and stuffs the last of the toast into his mouth.

“Jam tastes good,” he mumbles, spraying crumbs everywhere. Niall watches him pat his pockets for his phone and cigarettes before he pulls on his jacket. He leans in, presses a crumby kiss to his cheek again. “Don’t put it with those ginger snaps though, too sweet.”

Niall nods and watches him hastily jam up the other slice of toast before he disappears out the door. He’s humming something, crunching into the toast again and then the slam of the door.

It would be so much easier if he had just fell in love - or lust - or whatever - with Zayn instead of Harry Styles. His shoulders droop again as he thinks of him, wondering if he’s in his fancy kitchen mocking up chocolatey desserts and making his own jam at half seven in the morning. Probably not.

He probably doesn’t stress over whether there’s too much ginger in his jam or if the lime is zingy enough.

He leaves the dishes, as Zayn probably predicted when he told them to do it, and troops on into his bedroom. His sheets are soft against his cheeks, he’s too tired to even crawl far enough up the bed to reach his pillows so he settles at the end of the bed and pulls half the duvet around his waist to sleep, dreaming of chocolate and long, ring covered fingers.

*

He runs into him totally by accident and Niall nearly has a heart attack when he sees him. He’s wearing ratty sweats that used to be Zayn’s and his hair has all fallen flat because of the rain outside and there may or may not be a stain from his lunch on his t-shirt.

“Oh,” Harry says very quietly and Niall can feel his cheeks burn. He glances around and of course no one notices, they just look like two friends meeting each other in the toothpaste aisle of Asda. Niall glances down to his basket, there’s nothing in there too embarrassing - ingredients for dinner, two boxes of icing sugar and a bag of peas.

When he risks a glance over at Harry’s basket he spies a few pounds of strawberries, a litre of rum and a tube that looks suspiciously like lube.

“Oh,” Niall echoes sharply and his cheeks heat up even more. His eyes snap up and Harry’s eyes widen at his reaction. Niall hates himself. Why did he have to walk the whole way to Asda just to get some of their orange juice? This all could’ve been avoided if he’d went to the Co-Op at the end of his road instead. They don’t have orange and mango but at least his face wouldn’t be burning with embarrassment.

“Sorry,” Niall apologizes even though he doesn’t know why. He takes a step back and concentrates on staring at the rows of mouthwashes instead. Harry clears his throat and from the corner of his eye Niall can see him run his hands through his hair again, it must be a nervous habit he’s got and it makes Niall feel funny that he’s made him nervous.

“Um,” Harry hums and Niall wonders why he hasn’t sloped off, ignoring this ever even happened and went on with his day. His day that involves lube and rum. Niall’s back to feeling ridiculously jealous of him.

“Yes,” Niall answers and turns his head. He keeps his eyes at Harry’s chin, just so he doesn’t have to meet his eyes or look back down at his basket to see if there’s condoms in there too. Niall wonders briefly, eyes edging down to the collar of Harry’s t-shirt, what he’s going to do with the strawberries. If he has cream at home too and they’re going to end up spread out all over his chest and trailing down his stomach, whipped cream peaked on top of his nipples and some lucky fucker is going to have the chance to lick it all off him tonight.

“Are you ok?” Harry asks and Niall snaps his gaze back up to his chin again. It means he has a glimpse of his lips like this but it’s the safest place Niall can stare without being overly rude, well ruder than he’s probably already being. Harry’s question sounds like he’s trying to be polite and start some small talk but at the last minute turned it into a proper question, Niall wonders how red he is because it feels like his cheeks are going to ignite right here beside some tampons.

“Oh me?” Niall asks and his voice has went a bit squeaky. He feels like he’s thirteen again and Patricia Lewis in his history class has just said she wants to kiss him - even though he’d rather kiss her brother.

Harry laughs at him and Niall finally cracks a smile, a teeny one in response to Harry’s lovely laugh.

“Just picking up some supplies,” Niall mumbles and lifts his basket. His dry pasta looks awfully boring compared to Harry’s night, or rather, the night Niall imagines him having.

“Me too,” Harry smirks and the way his mouth quirks up at the side tells Niall that he’s fucking with him, making him feel more uncomfortable. Niall hates him for a moment but he can’t help laugh, giggling like a school boy caught out. Harry looks so irresistibly cool though, completely at ease being caught by a semi stranger (are they still strangers if they’ve shared spunk, Niall’s not sure), his hair is floppy, going frizzy with the rain and where he’s ran his fingers through it. Niall wants to do the same, sink his hands into it and scratch at his scalp, maybe use his grip to push him down.

Niall blinks up again when Harry clears his throat, as if he’s read his thoughts.

“Have you got plans for tonight?”

Niall sputters, coughs out his breath and glances over at the mouthwash again so he doesn’t have to look at the way Harry raises one eyebrow perfectly.

“Uh,” Niall stalls for time. He hadn’t been planning anything actually - Zayn’s out on a date and he was just going to watch X Factor and maybe try out a bread recipe he had read in Olive magazine. It might be too safe though, too Bored Housewife for the tastes of John and Gregg, but it’s got cheese in it and any bread with cheese in it is a win for Niall.

“I’ve been trying out a sorbet,” Harry shakes his basket at him and Niall glances down, spies the lurid blue of the Durex bottle and up again to meet Harry’s smirk and he knows that shake was on purpose. “But it’s all starting to taste the same to be honest.”

“Oh yeah?” Niall asks and hitches his basket up again. Harry grins at him, eyes fixed on Niall’s face. It makes him feel hot again.

“Come on.” He smiles and Niall thinks he could stare at him all day. “Be my guinea pig for the night?”

Niall’s already ninety percent agreeing to him when Harry leans in suddenly. Niall tenses, shoulders locking as Harry dips in close. He doesn’t lean away though so he gets a waft of how he smells, cologne worn away so it’s just of rain now and maybe of strawberries too. He’s warm, radiating out through the thin jumper thing he’s wearing even though it’s definitely coat weather outside. He doesn’t kiss him though, Niall’s stomach swooping topsy turvy at the possibility. Instead, he reaches into the shelf behind Niall and grabs a toothbrush, he pulls back, waggling his eyebrows for a moment before he tosses it into Niall’s basket.

Niall can hardly breathe.

“I’ll even stretch to breakfast,” Harry smirks and Niall can only nod, tripping after him towards the checkout, X Factor the last thing on his mind.

 

Harry’s house is nice but it’s disconcerting how close it is to Niall’s, like the fact that they could randomly run into each other at the supermarket should probably tell him how close they are but when Harry starts to drive the familiar road home he starts to wonder if he’s ever met him before. Maybe he’d snatched a bunch of mint off the shelf and not noticed that Harry was going in for the fresh sprigs of thyme at the same moment or just missed him down by the bread when it goes to half price at the end of the night.

Harry lugs their shopping in, shoving Niall’s peas in the freezer like he knows he’s planning on staying a while. It makes Niall pleasantly nervous and he watches as he pulls out the rest of the shopping. The strawberries go onto the worktop, followed by the rum and his kitchen is clean, absent of Niall’s normally through-other way of cooking when he’s practising something. He puts his bread into the bread bin beside his kettle and Niall’s chest feels tight when he pulls out the new toothbrush, along with the tube of lube and sets them very resolutely on top of the bread bin, pride of place in his otherwise spotless kitchen.

Harry grins at him but doesn’t say anything, turning instead to the blender and patting the top of it. He sneaks a glance at Niall and Niall’s happy that there’s at least a hint of blush there, like he’s not totally unaffected by his theatrics of unpacking the groceries. Niall’s eyes are drawn over to the bread bin again.

“You made daiquiris before?” he asks and Niall lets his shoulders loosen, dropping into the chair at the kitchen table. There had been a brief stint in a bar back home when he was between jobs. He had learnt how to pull a proper pint of Guinness but was shit at making cocktails so he shakes his head.

“Nope,” Niall answers when Harry doesn’t turn around. He’s flipping through his phone and glaring at the bottle of rum in his hand. There’s a series of measures lined up along the side of the sink and Niall doesn’t need to imagine that this isn’t Harry’s first attempt at making this. “Does it set with all the alcohol in it?”

Harry laughs and shrugs. “I’ve got a tub of it in the freezer now. The first batch didn’t have stabilizer in it and the second had too much, it just turned to mush.” He turns around and grins at Niall again. “Third time’s a charm, right? I’m going to put mango in this one.”

“Right.”

Harry looks at him and it goes on a second too long but Niall tries to ignore it, focusing on how his belly is flipping over instead.

It’s fun to watch Harry potter about his kitchen without the glare of the lights or the cameras. He sticks on a playlist and bops along to the beat as he opens his fridge and pulls out things to make dinner with. Niall feels like he should help out but he doesn’t want to step on his toes, he looks completely at home here and Niall selfishly wants to study how he cooks, see if he can pick up any tips from him. It should be a conflict of interest really but Niall’s not sure he’s taking much in except how Harry’s hands move when he chops up the strawberries and the way his shoulders pull his jumper taut when he bends over to get a sieve from his cupboard.

He pokes at the tupperware in the freezer, humming along to the song and Niall can’t help but smile as he prods at the sorbet, just set.

“Want a taste?” Harry asks, twirling a spoon into the tub and pushing it onto the placemat in front of Niall. It cuts into the sorbet easily, pink and smooth and just bubbly enough. It looks sweet and when Niall reaches for the spoon, Harry pulls his hand away, dodging the spoon out of Niall’s grip.

Niall’s spine straightens when he realises what Harry’s doing. Teasing him with the spoon and it’s disconcerting how easily he slips beyond the line into clear flirty behaviour.

He lifts his gaze and Harry doesn’t look bothered, lips turning up into a smile as he stoops over the table, allowing Niall to follow the slant of his shoulders down his back to glance at his bum, covered in tight denim.

“Won’t we ruin our dinner?” Niall asks sweetly and Harry grins at him, flicking his wrist so the spoon is just within reach of Niall again. Niall waits, breathes in and then out again for that extra second. Harry’s fingers are tensing around the end of the spoon but his wrist looks weak and Niall could easily bat the spoon out of his grip if he wanted. He doesn’t though, keeping eye contact as he sticks his finger into the top of the sorbet.

It’s freezing, cold shock zinging up his arm but it’s worth it to see the way Harry’s eyes narrow and how his smile evens out and grows. He scoops some of it up onto his finger and he must’ve messed up the stabilizer again because it hasn’t completely set, giving way to Niall’s finger easily. He pulls his hand up to his mouth quickly but he misses a spot, a drip of it running over his chin and Harry’s eyes follow it.

It’s cold on his tongue and a hint of sweet but as Niall swallows, eyes still trained on Harry’s he has to cough, all flirty banter lost.

Harry laughs at him as Niall swallows but he can’t even play it off cool because the rum is catching the back of his throat. It looks so pink and sweet that Niall hadn’t been expecting the kick of alcohol at all.

“Christ,” he wheezes and blinks away the tears that have pooled at the side of his eyes. “That’s so strong.”

Harry laughs again, twirling the spoon in the tub again until he has half a spoonful. Niall watches as he eats it, Adam’s apple bobbing and then he winces, grinning through it as he swallows.

“Yeah,” he agrees and laughs again. “Too much rum.”

He spoons some of it again and then glances shyly over at Niall before offering him it. He holds out the handle side first but Niall doesn’t move, meeting Harry’s gaze until he catches on and spins the spoon.

“Should I make airplane noises too?” he asks and Niall grins. He opens his mouth to answer but Harry shoves the spoon in there first, spoon clacking against his teeth and Niall’s tongue is flooded with cold rum and sharp strawberries.

He coughs again but Harry’s laughing with him, eyes crinkling like he’s trying to hold back on some of the laughter and it’s worth every wince inducing bite.

 

They forget about dinner and end up sitting on the kitchen floor, in front of the oven and sharing the blender between them. The sorbet had melted and Harry had given up halfway through making another batch, blending it together until it was just a straight up daiquiri. He’s mixed it with other fruit now so it’s nearly like punch, very strong punch.

“Is this one better?” Harry asks and he’s very nearly slurring his words. His lips have plumped up pink, glossy every time Harry licks over them and Niall wants to follow suit, run his tongue across the seam of them and chase the taste of strawberry on his tongue.

Niall laughs, tipping himself closer to Harry. His arse has went numb from sitting on the hard floor but Harry’s shoulder is nice and warm, a little bit bony but so much more comfortable than the cupboard he’s been leaning up against.

Harry grins at him and sets the blender down between them. The side of it cracks against the tiles but he doesn’t seem to care because he’s bringing his hand up to cup around Niall’s jaw instead.

His fingers are icy, thumb pressing into the dip of his chin and Niall opens his mouth automatically, dragging a ragged breath through his teeth before he meets Harry’s lips.

They’re cold from the ice and he tastes too sharp, too tart from the strawberry but he kisses him all the same.

Harry grunts into him, holding him by the jaw and angling him so he can meet his lips just right. Niall goes with it, neck melting into the pads of Harry’s freezing fingers as he kisses back. The blender topples over between them but Harry doesn’t move to catch it, he leans into Niall until the pressure makes him recline back, lying back on the tiles as the daiquiri mix soaks into his bottoms.

“Cold,” Niall complains against Harry’s lips and Harry just laughs against him, nipping at his bottom lip before reaching up blindly to get a tea towel from the bench. He throws it in the direction of the puddle of pink seeping across the floor but it doesn’t do much and Niall gets distracted from helping mop it up by Harry kissing him again, sweeping his tongue into his mouth and running it along his teeth. It feels like a novelty, being able to kiss him now after the last time when his mouth was off limits.

Harry grunts into it, as if he’s been listening to Niall’s thoughts and Niall matches his pace, a rough brush of lips turning it more desperate, putting the point across that Niall isn’t splayed out on the kitchen tiles for nothing, he wants something more than a casual snog.

He tugs at the sides of Harry’s shirt, pulling at it restlessly until Harry gets the hint and sits up, tearing it over his head so his hair stands on end, the top of it going static. Niall runs his fingers through it, tiny electric shocks zinging at his fingertips and he grins, as if the feeling in his bones have a physical representation.

“You taste of strawberries,” Harry tells him distractedly as he kisses the corner of his mouth. He pulls back and presses his thumb there instead, eyes dragging up from his mouth to meet Niall’s gaze. “Always tasting so sweet.”

Niall laughs and tugs him down, a palm pushing up his belly to feel the firm muscles of his stomach. He has a whole spatter of tattoos that Niall had never expected under there, the butterfly that dominates the breadth of his chest and the curves of the cage on his side. It’s the birds that he stares at though, finally able to see what Harry’s been teasing with the past few weeks that he’s known him. He leans up, mouthing at the tip of a wing and licking over the knob of his collarbone. He’s sweating already and Niall can taste it on his skin, cutting across the taste of whatever lotion he’s got on and the bitter rum at the back of his throat.

Harry makes a noise, soft and quiet and it doesn’t suit what they’re doing. It’s gone beyond the kitchen floor and when Niall glances up and he catches Harry’s eye, they’re dark and narrow and following his every move.

It's should be awkward, that second time where Niall knows enough of Harry's body to be thinking about it, to know how he feels against him but not enough to know what he likes. He pushes his hands down over his hips, slipping his thumbs under the waistband of his boxers, black and tight and clinging to his sides. Harry stares at him for a moment before he lifts up onto his knees, splaying them across the breadth of Niall’s thigh and letting Niall help him wriggle out of his underwear.

It isn’t sexy at all but Niall can’t help it the way his breath catches when Harry’s naked and pushing down on top of him again, the hard line of him fitting in against his hip. Harry shoves up Niall’s t-shirt, hiking it under Niall’s armpits so he can grind in against his skin and groans loudly into Niall’s ear.

“Fuck,” he swears and wriggles against him again. Niall pushes up to meet him, interested in getting some friction where he’s hard and aching too but Harry pushes his thumb into his other hip and grinds himself into the dip of his belly, smearing precome against his bellybutton.

He kisses him again, messy and all tongue. It just makes Niall want to rock his hips up, eager to kick off his sweats and get his mouth on Harry.

“Wait, wait,” Niall pants and Harry looks down at him, breathing harshly out of his mouth against Niall’s chin. “Roll over.”

Harry raises his eyebrows but rolls over anyway, pulling Niall with him so they’re flipped. Harry gasps and arches off the floor.

“Cold, cold, cold,” he whines and Niall laughs because he’s rolled right into the puddle of daiquiri that missed the clean up operation. Niall leans down, licking his way down Harry’s chest, lapping across the butterfly and sucking on a nipple.

Harry moans and clenches a hand in his hair, trying to tug him back when Niall moves on. There’s a splodge of strawberry mix on his side, just below his ribs and Niall licks at it where it’s went sticky. It’s sharp against the saltiness of Harry’s skin, where he’s gone hot.

Niall groans, nipping at his skin and Harry tugs on his shoulder again, the other hand pushing at Niall’s waistband.

“Shouldn’t we go to a bed?” Niall asks, lips moving against his skin. He sucks on a spot close to his mouth, enjoying the way Harry twists up to meet his mouth.

“Yeah,” Harry pants but doesn’t move. “In a minute, I - I -”

Niall looks up at him, swallowing around his tongue because Harry’s looking at him wildly, eyes blown wide and mouth red and wet.

Niall pushes himself up over his waist so he can meet his lips, kissing him roughly and licking into his mouth. He grabs at his dick, twisting his hand loosely around him and Harry’s coming barely touched over his fist, splattering up over his wrist.

He waits a long moment, listening to the gasping breaths Harry’s panting into into his neck before he moves. Harry looks up at him, his eyes softening before he pulls Niall into a long kiss. It’s less frantic now, just hot and warm juxtaposed to how Niall’s feeling. Niall wants to push his hips into Harry’s chest, get any friction he can but Harry pulls away, smiling at the way Niall whines and places his palms on his hips.

His eyes trail down over his chest and Niall feels self conscious suddenly, chest heaving and thighs tensing where they’re spread over Harry.

“Come on,” Harry says softly, hands scrambling down so he can pull at the waistband of his sweats. Niall makes a noise when his fingers trail over the bulge of his dick and raises his knee until Harry can pull his underwear down just far enough that his dick can edge out, curving up against his belly.

“What do you want?” Harry asks and his voice is hoarse. Niall wants everything, he wants his hands on him and his mouth and he wants to push Harry down on a bed and fuck him until neither of them can move. He wants to taste more of the strawberry stickiness on his skin and run his tongue over the hollow of his throat.

“Anything,” Niall hears himself answer instead, breathless with want. Harry’s eyes spark and he breathes heavily below him, hand trailing too gently up the inside of his knee, curving around his thigh and moving it until he can place it on Niall’s hot skin.

Niall takes a breath but it rushes out of him, lungs deflating as he arches his back and Harry’s hands are on him, one circling around his dick and the other going back up to his hip, pulling him down so he’s closer.

He rubs his thumb over him, dragging his foreskin down and Niall’s red, pre-come pearling at his slit. Harry’s staring down at him and Niall feels too hot as he looks down too, watching where his dick disappears into Harry’s fist. His other hand slides up over his hip, pressing against the base of his spine as Niall arches again, feeling the way his muscles stretch. Harry curls his hand, nails scraping over Niall’s skin before they slip lower, the pads of his fingers hot as they trail down across his arse.

Niall has to steady himself on Harry’s shoulder, palm pressed against where Harry’s skin is still pink and warm. Harry glances up at him, a quiet question in his and Niall gasps out, leaning down so he can kiss him, lips slick against his.

“I’m gonna come,” Niall gasps against him when Harry dips a finger into the cleft of his arse. It’s ridiculous that he’s going to come at just the suggestion of his finger but his skin feels too tight and his stomach is already clenching in anticipation.

“Yeah?” Harry asks and his voice has went low again, like it’s against the grain of his throat. Niall grunts out, smushing a kiss against his lips because they’re so close he can’t stop himself. It doesn’t last very long because he doesn’t have the concentration to kiss him when there’s a familiar hot curling at the bottom of his belly.

“Yeah,” Niall gasps out belatedly and Harry reaches up to kiss him again, neck straining.

“Go on then,” he urges him, hand slicking over the head of his dick again. “Come on, all over me.”

Niall can’t form words at that. Harry just grins at him and he sits up a bit, pulling away so he can come over Harry’s chest, splattering over the wings of the moth and up over the birds.

Harry groans, stretching his neck out and Niall sucks in a breath through his teeth, muscles jolting through a series of aftershocks. He realises belatedly that they didn’t even use the lube on the breadbin but he can’t find the space in his brain to care.

“Fuck,” Harry groans as he blinks at the ceiling before drawing his eyes back to Niall. He still has a hand cupped gently around his dick, not moving, just there. Niall smiles at him, lowering himself back down onto his elbows.

“We’re doing that again,” Harry tells him and Niall just nods, still not sure if he can form a coherent sentence. He kisses him lazily and it takes a moment until Harry sighs, kissing him back slowly. “In a bed next time.”

Niall breaks away, laughing drowsily into the crook of his neck, quickly getting used to the feeling of Harry’s hands as they trail across his skin.

*

“I thought you were making me breakfast?” Niall complains half jokingly when Harry produces half a loaf of bread and a box of rice krispies as the options for breakfast the next morning.

Harry shrugs and rubs at his eyes again. It’s cute the way he hasn’t fully woken up yet.

“I’m not a breakfast person,” Harry shrugs. “I just skip straight to lunch.”

“Most important meal of the day,” Niall chastises and grabs the cereal out of his hand, pouring himself a bowl as Harry shoves two slices of bread into the toaster. Harry passes him the milk and Niall passes him the butter for his toast.

“Sorry,” Harry apologizes but his lips are turning up into a smile. “Next time I’ll make you the most glorious plate of eggs benedict you’ll ever see. I’ll make you bacon three ways. I’ll throw some mushrooms in too. Shit’s going down when you’ve got mushrooms for breakfast.”

Niall snorts and spoons through his rice krispies. They crackle at him. Niall tries not to think about how the way Harry has said _next time_ had sounded so easy.

“Cereal is fine, ta,” Niall tells him through a mouthful. Harry scrunches his nose at him and Niall snaps his mouth shut. It’s hard to remember that they haven’t been dating years and maybe talking with your mouth full isn’t the most attractive thing the morning after.

Harry laughs at him and turns to buttering his toast, he spreads it right to the corners before he bends it in half and shoves it in his mouth.

“Why doesn’t bread like going on holiday?” Harry asks, spraying half his crumbs over the counter. Niall swallows his cereal and frowns over at him.

“Because things are too toasty,” Harry announces and smiles at him. “ _Toasty._ ”

“That was terrible,” Niall tells him but he can’t stop smiling anyway. Harry smiles back at him and it’s sort of nervous but Niall gets it. This is the awkward morning after and it’s turning out to be not so awkward after all. They’re arguing over breakfast and passing each other dairy products like they’ve known each other for years. It _should_ be awkward.

“I’ll just let it sink in,” Harry nods wisely. “You’ll appreciate it eventually. Bread jokes never get _mould._ ”

Niall shakes his head and drains the milk from his bowl. It’s still early but he has to get home. His battery is dead and he knows that Zayn will be wondering where he is. He went out to Asda, not somewhere that you usually disappear off to for hours on end.

Harry sends him on his way with a very chaste kiss on the lips. He presses his bag of groceries from the night before into his hand, along with a little flask of what strawberry sorbet actually set and Niall notes with a grin that he doesn’t send him off with his toothbrush.

“See you at filming,” Harry says but he’s grinning and looks a bit giddy so Niall just nods and walks down the road. It doesn’t take that long to get home at all and when he gets there and charges his phone there’s a message there : _How do you make an apple turnover?_

It’s from an unknown number but Niall answers anyway, butterflies erupting in his gut at the prospect of who it could be. He gives a brief description of how to stew apples with cinnamon and how to cut up puff pastry and flops back onto his bed.

Zayn isn’t home yet and the flat is oddly quiet. It feels like he’s buzzing though every time he thinks back to the past night.

There’s a buzz on his bedside table and rolls over, swiping over the lock screen directly into his messages.

_Roll it down a hill, silly!_

Niall flops back into his pillows and laughs loudly at the ceiling before glancing back at his phone and saving the number under _Harry the Baker_.

 

*

Harry texts him four days later. Niall’s in the middle of making lunch out of left over potatoes from yesterdays dinner when his phone nearly rattles off the windowsill.

His heart is beating before he even clicks it open because somewhere in the back of his head he’s been expecting this, deep down hoping that Harry would make the first move.

It’s just one word and Niall’s in limbo, half disappointed, like he had been expecting some declaration of love and half thrilled at just the text itself. _Busy?_

Niall wants to reply straight away but he forces himself to take a breath and set his phone down on the chopping board and he goes back to frying his potatoes. He can see his phone out of the corner of his eye and he’s not paying attention to his lunch at all because he sees his phone light up before it even begins to ring not five minutes later.

He nearly drops the phone, fumbling with the swipe lock and the wooden spoon in his hand.

“Hey,” Niall says, aiming for faux casual but it comes out strained. Harry laughs in response and Niall’s belly turns to jelly at the sound.

“You busy?” He asks instead of saying hello. It sounds like he’s outside, voice getting lost in the vast outdoors. “I have a plan but I might need help.”

“A plan?” Niall asks once he gets over that Harry’s actually on the phone with him. His voice sounds so familiar and it makes his pulse race. “That sounds ominous.”

“It’s not illegal, promise,” Harry tells him and laughs again. “You at home? I can pick you up.”

There’s a click in the background and then the snick of a door and Harry’s voice is suddenly a lot clearer from the inside of his car.

“I can be there in five. I think I remember the street you live on.”

“Uh,” Niall glances down at himself, still in yesterdays boxers. He doesn’t dwell on how Harry remembers where he lives. “Yeah, give me five then.”

“Excellent,” and then he’s gone, no goodbye or anything. Niall drops his wooden spoon and it clatters on the tiles but he doesn’t have time to pick it up. He slams on the button for the hot water and hops out of his underwear and straight into the too cold shower, not waiting for it to heat up.

He doesn’t have time to really process how the water slices into his skin because Harry. Is coming to get him. In less than five minutes.

He’s still damp, teeth chattering as he pulls on a t-shirt when his phone rings again.

“I’m outside,” Harry tells him in lieu of a greeting. “Wear something warm.”

Niall stammers out an affirmative and then Harry’s gone, just the beeps of the dial tone in his ear. Niall has to take a deep breath he pulls on a hoody over his t-shirt. He doesn’t know where they’re going so grabs two pairs of socks and pulls on a nice-ish pair of jeans because he has the overwhelming urge to look nice, just incase this is verging into date territory. Harry always looks nice anyway and it puts added pressure to not look like a dick beside him.

Harry’s range rover is parked a few doors down and he’s scrolling through his phone as he waits for him. He’s got a hat on and it looks soft, pulled down over his ear to make his hair curl out from underneath. It’s all swept out of his eyes and it makes them seem more green but Niall’s not used to seeing so much of his forehead so he looks away, feeling suddenly self conscious in his nice jeans and decent pair of vans. When he peeks past the gearstick he sees that Harry’s wearing a garish pair of red Hunter wellies and he has to swallow, wondering where the fuck they’re going.

“Where we off to then?” Niall asks when Harry just puts the car into first gear and pulls out into the road without saying a hello, again.

“Farming,” he grins at him, wagging his eyebrows and Niall feels his gut twist.

“ _Farming?_ ” he asks him and Harry laughs out loud. “Are you being serious? It’s nearly October.”

Harry shrugs. “Perfect timing really, I need to go apple picking.”

“There’s a perfectly good Asda up the road, y’know?” Niall asks him but settles back into the seat. Harry’s heading out of town and if they’re going farming he has no idea where they’ll end up.

“I know,” Harry smirks and Niall feels himself go suddenly hot. He grabs for his ipod, the lead hanging out of the glove compartment and scrolls through it for something to do as Harry navigates through the busy lunchtime traffic. “Where’s the fun in that though?”

Niall feels himself smile back and he clicks play, a Stone Roses song blasting out of the speakers in the car. Harry grins and nods.

“Very appropriate for a roadtrip,” he approves and turns his gaze back to the road. Niall relaxes into the back of his chair and watches him, the way his hand looks rested on the gearstick and how he settles the other one at the bottom of the steering wheel.

The drive out to Orpington is short considering the traffic and it’s chilly when they get out of the car, the breeze picking up. Harry pulls on a raincoat and it comes down past his waist, looking ridiculous with his skinny jeans tucked into his wellie boots.

“Definitely dressed the part,” Niall can’t help but tease and Harry laughs, loud in the empty car park. He pulls out a brown school mac, the embroidered crest nearly worn away and chucks it at him.

“In case it rains,” he tells him when Niall pulls a face at it. He grins across the hood of the car and Niall has no choice but to pull it on. It’s huge on him too and nearly comes down to his knees and Niall spares a thought for fourteen year old Harry, swamped in the thing as he walked to school.

“You just want me to look as much of a prat as you do,” Niall accuses him while Harry unloads the rest of the car. He laughs again and looks over at him, raking his eyes up over his legs and taking in the coat. “It feels like I’m going to go wading or something.”

“It suits you, brown is your colour.” Harry tells him and sniggers again. “We’ll make a farmer out of you yet.”

Niall scowls at him and Harry beams, like his teasing has just made his day. “Let’s go, we have picking to do.”

The little old lady at the door smiles at them and points them towards the fruit fields and Niall has to stop and take in how huge the farm is. It’s surprisingly busy and Harry tramps across the grass like he’s been here before. He’s got a huge basket wedged under his arm and he grins at him over his shoulder as he winds a path through some bushes. Niall spares a moment to mourn the state of his vans before he follows him, smaller basket under his own arm.

“You picked raspberries before?” Harry asks him when he catches up and Niall shrugs.

“Sure, the ones off the side of the road when you were a kid?” Niall asks him and squints at him through the setting sun, it’s sharp but not warm and Niall’s glad that Harry had chucked him a spare raincoat now. Harry laughs and shoves his hand into the bush, pulling off a raspberry and popping it into his mouth.

“ _Harry,_ ” Niall chastises but he can’t quite get the tone right, he’s too endeared by Harry to tell him off properly. “She’s going to chuck us out if she catches us stealing.”

“It’s one raspberry,” Harry shrugs and pulls off another one. Niall gapes at him and feels his stomach twist. There had been a sign, telling them not to eat before they pay but Harry just grins at him and steps in close, close enough that Niall can smell the grass on his coat and the musk of him underneath before he raises his hand and pushes the raspberry up to Niall’s mouth.

“Or,” Harry says very quietly and it makes Niall’s breath catch so he holds it and meets Harry’s eye. “Two raspberries.”

Niall keeps his mouth shut and the fruit is cold against his lips, the tips of Harry’s fingers warm in contrast. Harry keeps his gaze and it’s teasing, taunting him to eat it, like they’re being naughty together.

He opens his mouth and Harry grins at him, triumphant before popping the fruit into his mouth. It’s bitter, an explosion of juice in the back of his mouth as Niall chews it and Harry keeps his hand close to his mouth for a moment, his thumb warm against his bottom lip before he pulls away and picks another raspberry.

“I need raspberries, blackberries and then we’ll head over to the apples?” He tells him and Niall’s reminded that they’re here to actually do a job. He licks his lips. Harry pulls off another raspberry and pops it into his mouth.

“Is this for your next challenge?” Niall asks him once they’ve developed a rhythm, working their way down the row of perfectly planted bushes and filling their trays.

“Can’t tell you that can I?” Harry asks cheekily and when Niall looks up, he catches him staring. Niall takes a step forward, pulling at a branch and taking a handful of blackberries with him. Harry’s still smiling at him and Niall drops them slowly into the basket, keeping eye contact with Harry all the while.

“So, if this isn’t to do with the competition,” Niall says quietly even though there’s no one around them. He feels a surge of confidence from somewhere below his gut. “Is this a date then?”

Harry snorts but his smile is still soft and small and Niall doesn’t feel out of place tipping forward to kiss him. Harry kisses him back, fingers stained red and purple and coming up to smudge at Niall’s jaw.

His lips are cold but tongue hot as he holds him closer, chilly fingers slipping into his hair and Niall does the same, pushing his fingers under the edge of his beanie and feeling how warm his scalp is there.

“Come on,” Harry mumbles against his lips when he pulls back. Niall’s pleased to see how he doesn’t just look weather beaten now, a bit dazed too. “Let’s do apples. Before it gets too cold.”

Niall grins at him and grabs the other end of the basket and helps him lug it up the hill to the orchard.

The apples are easier, more straightforward to pick but there’s more people about, milling about in their ugly coats and appropriate footwear so Niall has to keep his hands away from Harry. It’s hard when he wants to push him up against every tree he can find and kiss up the column of his neck, push his hands under the flaps of his coat and kiss him until he can’t taste the raspberries in his mouth anymore.

He presumes Harry is feeling similarly because he keeps throwing him furtive glances and licking at his lips where they’ve gone red. Niall has to stop what he’s doing everytime he catches him, apples falling from his hand because his fingers aren’t working anymore.

It is cold now and the sun is nearly setting, everything going a low golden colour as the sky turns darker.

“Think my fingers are done in,” Niall finally admits defeat and Harry grins at him, reaching over their basket to clasp one of his hands in his own. It’s warm, palm hot against the cold of his fingers and Niall watches as he rubs at them.

“We better go,” Harry agrees, gaze lingering on Niall’s lips before he darts down to heft the basket up. Niall grabs the other side and it’s heavy, laden with their haul of apples.

The woman raises her eyebrows at him when they make it back down to the farmhouse. They must be the last people there, their car the only one in the carpark and she weighs their fruit silently before smiling back at them again.

Harry starts up the heaters as soon as they get into the car and Niall pulls off his coat, shivering as the blast of hot air hits his freezing feet and he holds up his stained fingers up to the grate above the radio. Harry does the same, grinning at him every time their hands bump together and when Niall looks away he catches himself in the mirror above his head, pink from the wind and purple smudged across his lips, chin and throat.

They don’t talk much on the way back, Niall’s head is buzzing but he’s tired from being out and about in the brisk air and Harry seems happy to drum his fingers against the steering wheel along to whatever music Niall picks on his iPod.

Harry trails half of the apples into Niall’s house when he goes to drop him off. Niall watches him, half enjoying him struggle to get up the stairs with such an awkward basket. He’s laughing by the time they get to the door and they stumble into Niall’s living room, half out of breath.

“Oh,” Niall stops short once they’re over the door. Harry walks into his back with a thump and a few apples spring free, bouncing over the wooden floor and rolling under the coffee table.

Zayn rolls over quickly but it’s not hard to see that there’s someone underneath him, a hand thrown over her face while the other one scrambles for the blanket that normally sits over the back of the chair. There’s a flash of skin and Niall can’t unsee it, the familiar curve of his hips and the round-flat of his bum.

“Sorry,” Niall apologizes but there’s something a little bit hollow settling in his gut and he can hear it in his voice. Harry’s gone very quiet beside him, standing still, just close enough that if Niall were to sway he’d meet his chest.

“Um,” Zayn says quietly and wraps the blanket around them. He sits up a bit, tucking the girl in and from this angle Niall can see she’s practically naked, pink blush roving down her throat and cheeks. “Hey, um.”

It’s silent for a moment and Niall can’t stop staring at him, at the flush on his cheeks and the tousle of his hair. Zayn finally meets his eyes but it’s only for a moment before they dart away again. He squirms uncomfortably and that’s how Niall knows he’s only making it worse but he still can’t move.

“I’m Harry,” Harry introduces himself suddenly and side steps so he’s not behind Niall anymore. He shrugs the basket of apples back onto his hip and grins brightly around the room as if they hadn’t just walked in on something awkward. “We were apple picking.”

Zayn looks at him and Niall watches as he takes a deep breath. He isn’t sure if he looks relieved or not but he reclines a bit in the chair, sinking into the cushions. They look ridiculous, splayed out on the sofa but at least whoever he’s with has calmed down again, her arm going to clutch the blanket to her chest rather than cover her face.

“I’m Perrie,” she says and Harry smiles at her.

“Lovely to meet you,” he says politely and Niall can’t figure out how they’re having a conversation right now. “I would shake your hand but -” He waves his hand about instead, “- my hands are full, y’know?” Perrie laughs, bright and loud in the otherwise quiet of the room.

“We better find somewhere to put these apples,” Niall mutters and finally looks over at Harry. He smiles at him, raising his eyebrows but it’s all wrong, not as genuine as before, like there’s a question behind his eyes. Niall tries to smile back but he can’t manage it, leading the way into the kitchen instead. Zayn doesn’t look up from his spot on the couch but as soon as he’s in the safety of the kitchen he can hear them whisper and the rustle of the blanket.

“What was that about?” Harry asks as he sets down the basket, straight to the point. Niall shrugs and grips the counter. He wishes that Harry hadn’t seen that but even he can’t pinpoint why he reacted like that. It was like muscle memory, everything flooding back when he seen Zayn with her.

There’s footsteps and the creak of Zayn’s bedroom door but they don’t sound like Zayn, instead his lead towards the kitchen door and he appears in it a moment later.

“Sorry,” he says again and looks a bit sheepish. His hair is ruffled and his t-shirt is pulled and rumpled around the neck. He’s got his jeans slung over his arm and leans up against the doorframe.

“It’s ok,” Niall laughs it off. “Totally fine. Just wasn’t expecting to see your bare arse this afternoon.”

The joke falls flat and he can feel Harry’s eyes on his back. Niall closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and pushes the fruit bowl towards him. Harry starts unloading his share of the apples into it obediently.

Zayn frowns at him and Niall knows he’ll probably want to talk about this later. He takes another deep breath and picks up an apple, running it over his palms, glaring at it instead of Zayn.

“I’m Zayn,” he hears Zayn introduce himself and he snaps his head up to see Harry and Zayn shake hands.

“Nice to meet you,” Harry grins and Zayn nods. He still looks awkward and he takes a moment to meet Niall’s eyes before he leans off the doorjamb again.

“Well,” he points his thumb over his shoulder. “I - uh - I better get back.”

Harry snorts. “Wouldn’t want to keep her waiting.”

Zayn flushes again and Niall grins, pressure between his shoulder blades relaxing. He feels fidgety though and he sets his apple down on top of the pile Harry’s made in the fruit bowl. Zayn’s door creaks again as he slips through it and his voice is muffled as he starts talking to Perrie.

“You ok?” Harry asks and Niall nods, turning round to smile at him.

“Yeah,” Niall nods. “Course I am.”

Harry appraises him for a moment before he takes a step forward. Niall lets him, lets him bracket his arms around his and hem him into the counter.

He still feels cold when he kisses him and Niall tries to push his weight into it, kiss him back properly but Harry leads it, pulling him closer and wrestling him out of his coat. It hits the floor with a thump and he should pick it up, especially after running into Zayn like that. It would be hypocritical of him to moan about him getting off in their living room if he gets off with Harry in the kitchen. There’s part of him though, a tiny bit that wants to though, wants him to come out and catch them so he can feel out of sorts like Niall does.

“Bedroom,” Niall says urgently when they part because if he doesn’t go now he’ll just suck Harry off in his kitchen, make him moan loud enough that Zayn will have no doubt in his mind what’s going on.

He pulls Harry by the wrist back through the living room and pushes him into his bedroom. It’s a mess, the duvet rumpled at the bottom of his bed but Harry doesn’t seem to mind with the way he kisses him again, leaning him down gently down onto the mattress. Niall swallows and looks at him, trailing his eyes down over Harry’s torso as he pulls off his shirt and kicks off his jeans. He hobbles for a moment, jumping on one knee as he gets the denim off over his ankle and Niall laughs, brain finally centring on Harry stripping in the middle of his bedroom. He bends over him then, grinning down at him before kneeing up the bed until he can settle against his waist.

“Today was fun,” Harry tells him, pushing up his shirt so he can thumb over one of Niall’s nipples and he rolls his hips, pushing his pelvis into Niall’s tummy. His boxers feel warm and Niall lifts a hand to trail down his side and grab a handful of his arse.

“It was,” Niall agrees and strains his neck up for a kiss. Harry dodges it, grinding down so Niall can feel the wet patch of his dick rub against his belly button. Niall gasps, lifting his hands to grip at Harry’s hips. He presses his thumbs into the dips of his bones and hopes that he leaves bruises because Harry’s here and this is for him right now.

“So that’s why I’m kissing you right now,” Harry says into his mouth, inching close enough that Niall can feel his breath against his lips. He licks them, circling his hips and groaning at the way his dick is trapped against Harry’s stomach. He needs to get his jeans off, pulls Harry’s boxers away so he can get at him skin to skin. “Because today was really fun.”

Niall nods distractedly and lets him kiss him again, a quick brush of lips.

“And I like kissing you, that’s why.” Harry mutters and Niall isn’t sure what he’s talking about, it’s quite like he’s having a conversation that Niall can’t hear the other side of.

Niall doesn’t answer, he’s tired of talking. Instead he grabs Harry by the nape of his neck, pulling him down so they can finally kiss properly again and it makes him want to whine, the feel of Harry’s lips against him, battered and bitten and completely perfect against his.

*

“I was supposed to be practising,” Harry mutters and rolls over in the bed. Niall shifts, letting him snuggle closer. It’s Sunday and apart from a brief hour when Harry went home to grab more clothes yesterday, they’ve hardly left Niall’s bed since the apples.

“You can practise making breakfast,” Niall hints and rests his chin against his shoulder. It’s quiet, the traffic outside not loud enough to make it through to their bedroom the same way the morning sunlight does. There’s a patch of it on Harry’s shoulder and he wonders if it woke him up. One minute they were asleep, the next Harry was trailing his fingers down over his bicep.

Harry snorts and blinks at him slowly. Niall yawns, making him smile. There’s a muffled thump and then the creak of a door and Niall knows that Zayn’s up and moving around the flat.

Harry glances up at him and Niall knows he’s about to say something, whatever he’s been building up to the past two days. There’s been something simmering under the surface but Niall didn’t want to ask about it, scared of what it was.

“Maybe,” Harry sighs and kicks his legs a bit. It only jostles Niall’s thick duvet, opening a pocket of warm air for Niall to squirm his feet into. He presses his toes up against Harry’s skin, maybe his shin and Harry hisses against his shoulder. “Cold,” he whines and wriggles his feet again, squirming away from him for a moment before rolling back into him. He makes a noise against Niall’s shoulder again.

“Maybe?” Niall prompts and drags his hand up across Harry’s side. He can feel his ribs the way he’s twisted and he traces his fingers across them, mapping out a shape against his skin. It could be anything at all, just traces and twirls and lines but Harry shivers against him again.

“Maybe we should not kiss?” Harry asks him and he sounds small and quiet, even though they’re pressed close. Niall frowns at him, rolling over so he can burrow down the sheets and press his lips against the side of Harry’s face. He squirms away but Niall just wriggles after him.

“What do you mean?” Niall asks. There’s a thumping in his chest and it hurts to focus on it. He takes another breath, focusing on forcing it through his teeth. Harry glances at him and then closes his eyes. Niall can see the way his throat moves as he swallows.

“Just that I need to focus on cooking and so do you,” Harry tells him and when he opens his eyes he’s got conviction in them, a determination that’s normally reserved for the kitchen. “Maybe we should pause the kissing and everything else until after the competition?”

Niall narrows his eyes and reaches forward to cup the side of Harry’s face with his hand.

“Do you want to stop?” he asks quietly. There’s a clatter in the kitchen and the sound of the TV going on. It’s early morning news but Niall can’t tell what the headlines are through the door.

“You’re distracting,” Harry tells him honestly but his smile is gentle and it doesn’t sound offensive. “Kissing you is distracting,” he adds ducking in to kiss him as if to prove a point.

Niall grins at him and Harry rolls his eyes.

“That wasn’t a compliment, you nutter,” Harry complains and tries to squirm away from him. Niall latches on tighter, sweeping an arm up over his belly to cling on.

“Just a pause?” He clarifies and Harry grins at him, eyes brightening. He turns his head so he can press his lips against Niall’s palm.

“Just a pause,” he promises and Niall relaxes against him, stomach swooping. He kicks his feet again, tangling them around Harry’s and he shuffles closer until he’s pressed up against him, front to front with nothing in between.

“What did we just discuss?” Harry asks but he’s grinning and his hand rubs down Niall’s side to settle at his hip.

“After breakfast,” Niall suggests and kisses him. Harry just laughs into his mouth.

“If we make it that far,” Harry mutters against his lips and kisses him back.

Niall feels giddy as they kiss, like he could laugh into his mouth. He tries not to, in case Harry takes it the wrong way but when he pulls away, Harry’s grinning sheepishly too.

“Breakfast,” Harry complains against him. “Come on, I want toast. We could make eggy bread.”

Niall snorts and rears back to look at his face. He still looks sleepy, the crease of the pillow indented into his cheek. Niall runs his fingers through the mess of hair at the top of his head.

“What happened to bacon three ways?” Niall asks. Harry groans against him.

“Don’t say bacon,” he whispers, like it’s a secret and Niall laughs against his lips, kissing him once more before kicking off the duvet. It’s cold outside of bed and Harry pouts a bit, rolling onto his side to drag himself out of bed.

They get half dressed, Niall not bothering to throw on much other than a ratty t-shirt and a pair of shorts. He’s got goosebumps on his knees but the kitchen will be warm once they start cooking. Harry pulls on his jeans and steals a pair of Niall’s socks, along with a shirt that Niall had forgotten he owned. It gapes at the neck and it shows off just enough of the love bite on his collarbone to make Niall flush at the sight of it.

Harry grins at him, pulling him into a hug before Niall opens his bedroom door. He breathes him in and it’s like he’s shoved his face into his pillow because Harry smells just as much of Niall as he does of himself now.

Zayn’s sitting on the corner of the sofa when they trip out to the kitchen. He has a mug of tea in his hand and is sleepily watching the TV, switched over to cartoons now instead of the news. Niall isn’t sure of how early it is.

“Morning,” Harry announces brightly. Zayn smiles at them sleepily, pulling his jumper around him tighter as he glances at them, half dressed and bed bedraggled.

It hasn’t been awkward exactly, just odd the past few days since Niall caught him with Perrie. He’s not sure it means anything, just that they’re both adjusting to seeing each other with new people.

“You want some brekkie?” Niall asks him and Zayn’s face lights up.

“What are you making?” he asks, trailing after them into the kitchen. Harry’s poking about into a cupboard and Niall offers him a shrug. “Is it going to be some masterpiece, yeah?”

“Of course,” Harry grins and produces a box of Special K. Zayn’s face falls.

“You two are the worst at this.”

Harry laughs and starts searching for some clean bowls.

They graduate up to at least some scrambled eggs and Zayn looks appeased when they give him three pieces of toast. When breakfast is done and Niall’s dipped all the plates in the sink before sticking them in the dishwasher, Harry reaches for his coat.

“This the last one then?” Niall asks, stomach sinking and Harry’s smile pulls up tightly at the corner.

“Yeah,” he agrees and sneaks in to brush his lips against Niall’s. Niall lets him, revelling in it until he remembers that this is the last time in a while so he reaches up and wraps his fingers at the back of Harry’s neck, working his fingers into the hair there as he kisses him generously, licking ferociously into his mouth.

“Better make it count, eh?” Harry asks when he pulls back, breathing hard against Niall’s top lip. His eyes look very green this close and when Niall blinks he takes a step backwards, smile small on his lips as he licks over them again.

“See you later?” Niall asks and he feels silly asking suddenly but Harry grins at him, walking backwards. Niall takes a step forward, following him.

“Definitely,” he murmurs and then he’s right at the door and Niall isn’t sure if he can draw it out longer without kissing him again. He feels a bit hollow at the thought that he can’t do that anymore but Harry smiles at him again, skimming his fingers over the collar of Niall’s shirt, right where it droops down below his collarbone. His thumb catches the fabric of his shirt and then there’s a flash of dimples before he’s gone.

*

“You’re pouty this evening,” Zayn comments and slides across from him at the kitchen table. He’s got his tie loosened and his top button undone and it’s the first time he’s seen him since the weekend. Niall suspects that he’s been staying at Perrie’s but he’s too much of a coward to bring it up.

“I’m not,” Niall shakes his head but he can feel his lips pull down into a pout even as he says it. Zayn cracks a tired smile and steals one of his dumplings. He makes a face and Niall groans, flopping down so his head hits the table top.

“Think you put sugar in these ones, mate.”

“Fuck,” Niall groans again. “I’ve been fucking up all day. I don’t have time to fuck up. I need to decide what I’m cooking next. Fuck.”

Zayn smiles at him good naturedly. “That’s a lot of fucking.”

“Not the right kind,” Niall says darkly and Zayn smirks.

“You and Harry dried up?” Zayn asks lightly and Niall scowls at him. The whole kissing thing seemed like a good idea, it would allow them the time to concentrate on their food but now it’s just more distracting than ever. Harry keeps sending him snapchats in his apron, pale skin showing around the straps and he’ll have whipped cream on his nose or something. It’s torture and Niall’s nearly sure he’s doing it on purpose.

“We came to a deal,” Niall fills Zayn in instead, curling his hands into a fist so he has something to focus on rather than a cream covered Harry. He’d maybe make a chocolate sauce too and drizzle it over his abs to lick off with the cream, peaked over his nipples. Fuck.

Zayn clears his throat and Niall realises he’s zoned out again. He digs his fingers into his palms and stands up. He has something simmering on the stove and he isn’t even sure what it is, just that it’s hardly edible, sugar swapped for salt in everything he’s made this afternoon.

“We’re not going to see each other until the competition.”

Zayn raises his eyebrows and whistles softly out of his mouth. “Sounds like a pretty shit idea to me.”

Niall makes a noise of aggreance and turns the dial for the gas, moving over to the sink to pour his concoction down the sink. Oh yeah, it was his first batch of a tomato veloute.

“Go sit down,” Zayn tells him, placing his hands on his shoulders and guiding him over to the kitchen table again. “I’ve still got leftovers from going up to see mum. I’ll make us dinner.”

Niall smiles and slumps into the wall beside the table. The place is a mess but he can’t be bothered getting up to do anything, preferring to sit and watch as Zayn pulls off the cardigan he wore to work today and gets started on dinner.

“So,” Niall says as Zayn pulls out a batch of his mum’s samosas. Niall’s had them before and they’re great, much better than the stuff Niall gets out of the party food section in tescos, even the ones from M&S. “How’s you and Perrie?”

Zayn’s shoulders tighten and he glances over his shoulder. They’ve dodged around the subject but if Zayn can ask about Harry alright then maybe Niall needs to show a bit of interest in Zayn too. There’s still a bubble of something deep down in his belly but it’s mostly tramped down by the thought of Harry in a gingham pinny sucking raspberry juice off his fingers again.

“She’s great,” Zayn smiles, face lighting up and Niall’s a bit jealous. He bets that Zayn could go right over to Perrie’s and kiss her if he wants. He fiddles with his phone, swiping over to the snapchat app and he takes a selfie, he’s pouting and when he snaps he can see how tired he looks. He sticks on a caption - _mixed up the salt and sugar_ and adds a few emojis before firing it off to Harry. He hesitates for a moment before taking another one, this one looks even worse, dark circles under his eyes. _miss u_ and he clicks his phone shut before he can send anymore. Zayn’s still chatting about her, his back to Niall now as he tends to dinner but Niall’s zoned out, eyelids drooping as he slumps against the wall.

He wakes a while later, he feels groggy and he isn’t sure how long he’s been asleep. Just that the kitchen looks a bit more tidy and that it’s still dark outside. There’s a hand against his arm and when he starts the person hushes him quietly.

“Oh,” Niall breathes out when he sees Harry there. He looks tired too and he’s in a soft looking hoodie, Niall wouldn’t mind pushing his face into the fabric of it.

“Come on to bed Niall,” Harry whispers and pulls at his arm again. Niall follows him, blinking the sleep out of his eyes to make sure that it’s actually Harry in front of him. The rest of the flat is in darkness and Niall isn’t sure where Zayn is but he doesn’t care, following Harry through to his bedroom.

“Isn’t this breaking the rules?” Niall asks, words all running in together as he kicks off his sweatpants. Harry pulls off his jeans too but doesn’t make a move for his t-shirt so Niall stays the same, half dressed as he crawls into bed. “No distracting kisses?”

“I’m just here to sleep,” Harry tells him, scooting across the mattress until he can lie beside him, their faces so close they’re nearly nose to nose. “And to see if you would know what would go well with a piece of lightly spiced crusted salmon.”

Niall knows he means it as a joke but he can’t humming in response, flicking his eyes open to see Harry smile.

“Some wilted spinach,” he mutters, words slurring together because he’s dropping back off again. “With a bit of five spice and schezuan.”

Niall’s surprised he was able to say schezuan he’s that tired but Harry’s eyes light up and he pushes a quick peck to the end of his nose.

“Yeah, and we can do something with chilli and lime for the fish?” Harry asks more to himself because Niall’s already giving into the darkness. He can feel Harry shift against him, humming softly under his breath before the brush of his lips. Niall doesn’t open his eyes, couldn’t if he tried but he hopes his mouth has turned up into the smile he’s feeling on the inside.

 

*

 

“I have a secret ingredient,” Harry promises him and Niall snorts in response. He tugs off the end of the baguette he’s brought with him and snakes his hand between Harry’s arm and his side to dunk it in the sauce.

It burns his tongue but Niall eats it anyway. It has the right balance of tomato and spice and warms his belly when he swallows it. It’s nice to stay this close to Harry as well, nearly pressed up against his back as he tries to dunk in another bit of bread.

“Is it worchester sauce?” Niall asks, laughing at how Harry’s expression instantly darkens. He’s so close he can see the way his jaw tightens and he’s one second away from pouting - Niall knows it. “Cus that isn’t very secret once Jamie Oliver raved on about it.”

“No,” Harry says slightly defensively and elbows him out of the way, rounding his back on him so Niall can’t sneak anymore sauce. “It’s called Love and Affection. And it’s a Styles family recipe.”

“Oh?” Niall asks and Harry mock glares at him over his shoulder, stirring at his pot with the wooden spoon. “Is that what it is?”

“Yes,” Harry nods and sprinkles in a bit more oregano. “If it was solid, I would kiss it. It’s been passed down from generations, first discovered by my great-great-great-great-great-”

Niall snorts and ducks in to kiss him, just to shut him up. When he pulls back he can see up close how Harry’s eyes are still a little bit red from chopping the onions earlier. Niall wants to smudge his thumbs below his eyes, feel the warmth of the hollows of his cheeks.

“I’m pretty solid,” Niall murmurs and Harry’s eyes flick dangerously quickly up to meet his again before they skitter away. He’s blushing or hot from the cooking Niall can’t tell so he steps away quietly, tearing the bread in his hand to pieces. It falls on the ground, crumbs to be brushed up later but he doesn’t care about that at the minute, more interested in the pink flushing up the apple’s of Harry’s cheeks.

“We’re not kissing,” Harry finally tells him and he’s trying his hardest to be stern. He wags his wooden spoon at him and everything. “Remember?”

“Hard to forget, really,” Niall replies and it’s nice to be finally honest with him. The past few days have been torture, chest aching with trying not to touch him or kiss him or pull him into bed with him.

Harry sighs out but it sounds like he’s been punched in the gut and Niall likes that, that he’s done that to him.

Niall waits a moment before he pushes it further, drops his voice lower. “Think about it a lot actually.”

“Niall,” Harry breathes out and he’s rounded over the saucepan again. Niall bites his lip and watches the arch of his neck, muscles contracting as he swallows.

Niall’s not prepared for when he turns round though. The way his eyes are sharp and piercing.

“I think about it too,” Harry murmurs and then he's pushing in for another kiss and Niall is never going to turn that down. Harry laughs into it but Niall pulls him closer, winding a leg around his thigh and pulling him tight against him, kissing him up against the cupboard doors.

Niall groans out and squeezes his thighs around him, keeping him close.

“Can we forget about your stupid rule?” Niall asks when he pulls apart, breathing damply against Harry’s chin. He nips at it, kisses the corner of his mouth before moving away so he can meet Harry’s gaze properly. He looks conflicted, like he’d like to keep kissing him but it’s against the rules. Niall thinks the rule is stupid anyway.

“We shouldn’t,” Harry tells him but he narrows his eyes a bit and then groans to himself before ducking back in and kissing him again.

Niall’s missed this but is pleasantly surprised that it’s familiar, even after a short time to get used to it and it’s all flooding back already. Like they’ve been kissing for years. Niall sweeps his hands up Harry’s neck, pushing one of them into his hair and twisting his fingers in it. Harry makes a noise and his hands on Niall’s sides tighten.

“Missed this,” Niall tells him when they break apart again. Harry grins at him and he’s going pink again. “You’ve got very kissable lips.”

Harry snorts and kisses him again. “How much of that wine have you drank?”

Niall laughs against his mouth before pulling away to run a thumb over Harry’s bottom lip, pushing into the plush of it.

“If the chef thing all falls through, you should be a lip model.”

“A lip model?” Harry snorts. He shakes his head but he’s still smiling when he kisses him again. He pushes into the space between Niall’s thighs, pressing up against his groin and Niall can feel where he’s going hard against him.

“What’s next in this secret recipe?” Niall asks him quietly when they pull apart again. Harry smirks and leans his forehead against Niall’s. He moves his hands, pushes them down over Niall’s waist and further to hook them under his thighs.

“A convenient hour long simmer.” He hefts him up, pulling him up off the bench and Niall cackles loudly as Harry spins him into the middle of the kitchen.

“How convenient,” he praises him, wrapping his arm around Harry’s neck to hold on as he walks them towards the bedroom. “Grandma Styles has the right idea.”

Harry snorts and shakes his head, kicking the door open to Niall’s room. “Less chat about my Nana.”

Niall laughs but it’s cut short because Harry drops him onto the mattress, diving on top of him a moment later and he hasn’t the time to think about anything else but kissing Harry eagerly back.

They lose their clothes quickly, Niall untangling himself out of his shirt as Harry pulls at his jeans, pushing Niall’s legs up to grab at the bottom of his underwear and yanking them down too. Niall grins, wriggling until he’s up at the pillows and he can pull Harry down on top of him, warm skin against warm skin.

Harry kisses him again, a long brush of his lips before he’s licking in at his mouth, sucking his tongue in between his lips and pressing down at his hips. Niall ruts up against him, happy to have friction where he’s becoming harder, dick filling up between them. Harry gasps into his jaw, sucking on a spot at the crease of his neck and Niall doesn’t even care if they’re on camera tomorrow, he wants Harry to mark him everywhere.

“Yeah,” he sighs, circling his arm around Harry’s back, pulling him closer to throwing his leg up over Harry’s hip to keep him there. Harry snuffles a laugh against him, kissing his way down his throat before working his way back up again, lips dragging against his Adam’s apple as he nips at the skin.

Niall pushes his other hand down his body, over the hot skin of his ribs and into the dip of his waist and out over his hip. He presses the pads of his fingers into the flesh of his bum, rolling up against his hips before letting his fingers slip into the cleft of Harry’s arse.

“Wow,” Harry says and rears up. Niall freezes, the tips of his fingers tucked between his arse cheeks. Harry’s eyes go a bit wide and Niall pulls his hand away quickly.

“Sorry,” Niall can’t help laugh at the way Harry relaxes a bit against him. “We don’t have to.”

Harry pulls a face and rolls his hips again. Niall groans a bit and Harry’s eyes flutter shut. “Not that I don’t want to,” he whispers sincerely. “But can we maybe build up to it a bit.”

Niall softens his face and smiles at him, rubbing his thumb under Harry’s chin instead. “Course we can. I’ll suck you off instead.”

Harry grins and looks shy and it only makes Niall fall for him more.

 

*

 

“You awake?” Harry asks into the dark. Niall nods silently, letting Harry fit himself up against him again. He can feel Harry’s chin against his shoulder and he leans into it, sighing out loud into the dark of the room.

“Can’t sleep,” he mutters and his throat feels rough but more awake than it should for so early in the morning. They’d had a power nap after reacquainting themselves with each other and then ate Harry’s pasta before heading back to bed but Niall hasn’t been able to sleep at all. “Just thinking about things.”

Harry snuffles into his shoulder and winds an arm around his belly, splaying his fingers against his skin.

“Things?” he asks quietly. “Food things?”

Niall makes a noise. He doesn’t want to think about it anymore but everytime he closes his eyes all he can see is the kitchen. His stomach keeps rolling everytime he thinks about the competition tomorrow. He needs to win if he wants to get through to the semi finals. Maybe he should’ve practised more. Harry moves against him and he sighs, no, he liked how his evening went too much to change it.

"You need to de-stress," Harry tells him, mouth curving against his ear. Niall can’t help but shiver. He kicks his feet a bit and wriggles his ankle beside Harry’s. He’s wearing socks and Niall’s toes curl into the warm wool.

“Oh yeah?” Niall asks, rolling over into Harry’s space and grinning at him through the dim, inching forward so he can work his hips into Harry's thigh.

“Not like that!” Harry snorts but he curls his hand briefly around Niall’s hip anyway before he rolls away. Niall whines at the loss of heat and again when the duvet flaps up as Harry rolls out of bed.

“Come back,” he sounds pathetic but Harry's answering laugh is worth it, a small bubble of warm in the cold morning.

“What's this?” Harry asks after rooting about under his bed for a seriously short moment. Niall squints his eyes open and laughs.

“A hurley stick,” Niall answers, rolling over to the warm spot in the middle of the bed. It looks far too faux casual to not have been planned but Niall humours him and waits for Harry to speak again.

Harry shrugs and straightens up from where he’s stooped over at the side of the bed. He’s finding it hard to keep a straight face and Niall wants to lunge forward and kiss him. It takes a moment before he realises with a grin that he’s allowed to do that now. Harry half falls onto the mattress as Niall kisses him, soft and warm, fingers curling around the thin material of his t-shirt in the hopes of dragging him back to bed. It’s far too early and they didn’t get nearly enough sleep last night.

"Come on," Harry tells him, pulling away so he can sit on the edge of the bed where he grips the stick tighter. Fingers around the spongy grip and throwing a grin over his shoulder. "I've an idea.”

“It's sleep time though,“ Niall moans and wraps the duvet around him tighter where the draught is getting in. Harry’s grin widens, excited and bright like he's got a secret. Niall’s seen him do it before, normally directed at a bag of shallots or something as equally uninspiring. It feels funny to see it directed at himself now.

Niall pulls himself out of bed anyway because Harry’s throwing a coat at him from the piles of clothes on the ground and Niall can't say no, really. He can never say no to Harry.

It's freezing outside, cold slicing through his clothes to get at his skin. The type that makes you feel sick, ribs contracting as he hunches his shoulders. Even bundled up in one of Zayn’s scarves and Harry's gloves every breath he takes is miserable. It's quiet too, like the rest of the street is sleeping and it's only the pair of them awake in the whole wide world. There’s a chill seeping in through the thin pyjama bottoms he’s got on and when Niall huffs out a breath, he can see it in front of him.

“What's this idea then?” Niall asks as Harry gives him the stick and takes a few long strides down the street. He's got something shoved up his jumper, something that bumps out and stretches the wool out over his belly. Harry just smiles, walking backwards until he's in the middle of the road, feet on either side of the white line.

“Gonna hit these,” Harry calls to him and fishes out the bag under the front of his top. He makes a show of unfolding the tea towel and the ripping the plastic Tesco Bag-for-Life open. Niall snorts and tries to be outraged as a few apples topple out, the last of their haul from the farm spilling onto the road.

"That's my entire fruit larder!" Niall crows. "I’m supposed to be making an apple cider jelly!" and Harry just laughs, far too loud in the empty street, dropping the rest of the contents of the bag onto the ground. He lifts an apple from the pile and Niall doesn't know how he smuggled it all out of the kitchen without Niall noticing.

"Ready?" Harry calls across to him and Niall takes a step back, dragging a freezing breath through his nose and flexing his wrist. He nods and watches as Harry takes aim.

The smack the apple makes against the wood is satisfying. It splinters and some of it flies through the air before splattering down over the tarmac. Harry cheers and Niall can't help the loud laugh because he can feel the stress radiating out through his shoulders already.

Harry lobs another apple at him and Niall glues his feet to the ground, shifting his weight from his toes. The grip is soft and cool under his palm, his thumb grazing over the grain of the wood and it shouldn’t make him feel powerful but when he swings he feels the strength of it as his arms move, slicing through the morning air and snapping at a Golden Delicious. The thwack reverberates down into his wrists and he lets out a punch of air from his lungs, grinning as it smashes to bits in the air above him and Niall has to duck his head in case he gets rained in apple mush.

Harry’s cheering again and when Niall looks up, he can’t help but think that he could stand in the middle of the street with him forever, pale orange lights washing him out in the dark.

“Another one?” Harry calls and he sounds breathless, foggy air around him too. Niall nods, he’s not speechless really, just doesn’t want to ruin the moment and Harry grins at him, face lighting up as he bends over to grab an orange this time. He’s still grinning when he straightens up, bracing himself on his foot and bowling like he’s playing cricket.

It splits on contact with the stick, squashing and Niall can only smell oranges as it sprays around him. He laughs and wipes at his eyes and when he opens them Harry is closer than he was before, striding up the street towards him.

“Do you want to swap?” Niall asks, heaving another breath at the sight of him. He looks so lovely, shining in the dark.

“No,” he says quietly and then Harry’s right in front of Niall, reaching out to curl his fingers in the wool of his scarf.

Niall tastes orange when he kisses him. Licks it off his own lips and where it’s on Harry’s. Sharp and tart and it fits, reminds him of Harry in the most perfect way. It warms him up, right down through his belly to the tips of his toes and when he shivers, it’s got nothing to do with the cold.

Harry has a look in his eye when he pulls back, something dark that Niall can’t figure out in the dull street light. He just smiles at him, hooking his fingers around Niall’s knuckles before walking backwards towards the house again, leaving the fruit splattered across the road.

He doesn’t say anything the rest of the way up the stairs and Niall follows silently, letting Harry navigate them through the mess of the living room and back into Niall’s bedroom. He closes the door with a snap and then kisses him again, long and lingering before pushing Niall back towards the bed again.

It’s unmade and a reminder that they’ve hardly been out of it all night, sheets soft and warm against his skin.

Harry looms above him for a moment, scooting up Niall’s thighs until he can kiss him again. His skin is cold from being outside just where his nose is pressed against Niall’s cheek. Niall’s fingers curl into the collar of Harry’s jacket, pulling him closer before pushing the coat over his shoulders.

Harry makes a noise when he has to pull away, something breathless and he stares down at him as he pulls his coat off and then his t-shirt. Niall feels hot all of a sudden under his gaze, like he’s staring through his skin until he’s right in underneath.

“Since when were you the silent type?” Niall asks because the air feels heavy around them and it might just be Harry’s weight on his stomach, spread out over his lap but he’s finding it harder to breathe.

Harry smiles at him but it seems nervous and he’s got that look in his eye again so Niall reaches up until he can settle his palms on his sides, trailing them down over his skin until he can cup around his hips. The skin around his thumbs turns white where he presses in, squeezing with just enough pressure and Niall watches in fascination as goose bumps rise up over his belly.

“Have you -” Harry starts very quietly and Niall looks up, catches the way he bites at his lips. Harry blinks then and dips down, kissing him hard again until Niall can feel it down to his toes.

“Have you got stuff?” Harry asks in a whisper against his lips. Niall can feel the way his lips move, slow and wet against his own, feeding the words right into his mouth. When Niall inhales, it’s on Harry’s stolen breath.

“Stuff?” Niall asks and he wishes that Harry would sit up so he could see his expression. He can feel the way Harry’s shoulders tense, his fingers twisting into the duvet beside Niall’s head. Harry takes a breath, stealing it right back out of Niall’s mouth.

Niall skims his hand up over Harry’s back before curling his fingers around his shoulder and pulling him back an inch. His eyes are dark but warm and wide.

He presses in for another kiss and Niall lets him, licking against Harry’s tongue before Harry pulls away again and says in a rush. “Condoms, do you have -”

He cuts off again and presses his forehead into the bone of Niall’s shoulder. He stays there, breathing loudly into the space there.

“Oh,” Niall says because he can’t think of much else. He presses his fingers into the muscles of Harry’s back and turns his face to the side so he can see the side of Harry’s face, his nose rubs at Harry’s sweaty temple they’re that close. “I thought you wanted to work up to it?”

Harry blinks and lifts up again, smile suddenly going shy. He lifts a hand to shove into his hair and ruffle it about a bit. He looks bashful for a moment and Niall’s never seen him look so shy. “I want to.”

Niall waits and listens as Harry breathes out carefully.

“I just,” Harry says a moment later. He rolls his hips and he’s still half hard against Niall’s belly. “Don’t do this very often, this bit, y’know?”

Niall nods and Harry’s face instantly relaxes, sliding into softness around his eyes. He ducks down for a kiss and Niall gives into it easily, hooking a knee around his calf to roll him easier.

Harry makes a noise when he lands on his back but laughs against Niall’s lips when they separate.

“Maybe warn a guy,” he mumbles but wriggles about until he’s comfortable in the middle of the bed. Niall hovers above him, braced on his elbows. Harry’s fingers trail under his jumper. “So,” he whispers up at him. “You got stuff?”

Niall snorts and pulls away from him, crawling over to his nightstand. “You’re gonna have to stop calling it _stuff_ if you want me to fuck you. You sound fifteen and it’s your first time in Boots.”

“Uh,” Harry laughs and when Niall looks over his shoulder he’s hitching his hips so he can strip out of his jeans. “Who said you were doing the fucking?”

Niall raises his eyebrows and watches as Harry flushes, a telltale red down his neck. His jeans are caught around his knees but his dick is already curving up his stomach.

“I thought it was implied?” Niall asks him and digs around his drawer until he finds a box of condoms. He chucks one onto the bed and Harry raises his eyebrows. Niall chucks another one at him just to make Harry laugh. It takes some of the tension away between them and Niall grins at him. Niall keeps eye contact as he pulls off his jumper and kicks out of his pyjama bottoms. Harry has a hand up to his mouth and Niall isn’t sure he’s even aware he’s doing it, biting around the skin of his nail and licking over the pad of his index finger.

“You ok?” Niall can’t help but ask and Harry nods slowly, hair mussing against the duvet. Niall kicks off his boxers and drops to his knees at the edge of the bed, just where Harry’s legs are hanging over the mattress. Harry groans from up above him but Niall ignores him, smiling into his knee as he pulls Harry’s jeans the rest of the way down his legs.

He kisses up the inside of his thigh slowly, tongue trailing over the skin there and Harry’s feet skitter against Niall’s hardwood floors, ankle bumping into Niall’s knee until he reaches down and grabs it, thumbing over the knobby bit of it.

“Next time though,” Harry says and then he’s sitting up, fitting a hand into Niall’s hair. “Next time I’m -” Niall bites at the soft inside of Harry’s thigh and Harry gasps, sentence forgotten as Niall worries the skin there. He hopes it bruises and that all day tomorrow it twinges when the inseam of his jeans catches it.

“Fuck, Niall,” Harry breathes out and Niall has to move his hand to his dick, just to cup around himself because Harry sounds fucked out already, almost reverent and it makes his head spin.

Harry tugs on his hair then, coaxing him up to his full height on his knees so he can kiss him. He looks hungry, eyes slightly too wide and blown like he can’t believe how the night turned out. Niall kisses him back, pushing himself up onto his feet partly because his knees hurt but more because he needs Harry spread out below him, skin on skin.

Harry catches on, tipping himself back and pulling Niall with him so they can kiss for a minute until Niall rolls his hips down, catching himself against Harry’s dick and the kissing’s forgotten about.

Harry groans against him, hooking a leg up around Niall’s hip and it’s easy for Niall to slip down, to grind into the space behind Harry’s balls instead.

“Fuck,” Harry whines and it’s like he’s lost all coherent thought. Niall reaches up a hand, squeezes his fingers around the base of Harry’s dick before jacking slowly up the length of him, thumb rolling over hot skin. Harry blinks, lips dropping open in a quiet gasp. “I want - _Niall_ -”

“You want what?” Niall asks him, ducking down to suck on his bottom lip. He groans into it, canting his hips up to fuck into Niall’s too loose fist.

“Fuck me,” he begs into Niall’s lip and Niall groans then, kissing him harshly before scrambling his hand across the sheets for the lube he chucked onto the bed earlier.

He uses too much, fingers slippery and wet as he trails them down Harry’s arse. Harry gasps quietly into his own arm when he wriggles the first finger into him, moaning when he twists it to the knuckle and then again when he pulls it out. Niall’s never heard him be so vocal before and it makes his skin prickle with every sound he makes, whimpers mingling until it’s all running into one long whine as he ruts back into Niall’s hand, three fingers deep.

Niall has to push his hips into the mattress and breathe damply against Harry’s shoulder to stop himself from coming just at the sight of him.

“Come on,” Harry babbles, patting at the top of Niall’s head and pushing a condom at him with his other hand. His hands are shaking and Niall takes a moment to pause and kiss him.

“You good?” Niall asks, breath fanning over his face and Harry nods, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth as his eyes skitter over Niall’s face.

“Yeah,” he breathes out slowly before he turns very deliberately onto his stomach.

Niall has to stop and breathe, looking down on Harry’s arse like it’s being presented to him. “Niall, lets go, come on.” Harry taps the duvet behind him impatiently, missing Niall’s knee by an inch.

“Coming, coming,” Niall mutters and Harry giggles, actually giggles into the pillow he’s got his cheek pressed into.

“Well no, or else I wouldn’t be having this problem would I?” he asks, voice slurring a bit. He wiggles his arse and moans at the friction it gives to his cock trapped between him and the sheets. He clears his throat and puts on a vaguely silly voice. “Let’s get coming.”

Niall shakes his head because he never realised that Harry would be this chatty after he’s had a few fingers in his arse.

“That was terrible mate,” Niall tells him, ripping into the condom wrapper.

“Just get on with it,” Harry grins at him over his shoulder and Niall feels himself smile fondly down at him. He’s lovely like this, hair bedraggled and his cheeks pinking from where he’s peering up at him, pushing himself onto his elbows.

Niall pushes in slowly, a hand on the base of Harry’s back and the other on his hip to steady him. Harry groans out below him, loud and long, letting his head drop between his shoulders.

“You ok?” Niall breathes out once he’s got his hips settled against the heat of Harry’s arse.  
He smoothes the hand on his back up his spine, spreading his fingers and giving him a reassuring rub, thumb over the knobs of his spine. “Y’alright?”

“Yeah,” Harry chokes out a moment later, lifting his head and taking a gasp of a breath. Niall can hear the catch of it in his throat. “You can move, go now, go.”

Niall closes his eyes, pulling out to thrust back in shallowly. He feels tight even though Niall had fingered him until he was inches from coming. Harry stretches out below him, rocking back to meet Niall’s thrusts and Niall’s too close to coming himself to catch much of a rhythm, fucking into him quickly.

“Fuck,” Harry groans again, spine straightening suddenly and Niall folds himself over his back. He’s sweaty, shoulders going red and Niall bites at the nape of his neck, licking at the sweat there. Harry turns his head and Niall kisses him roughly, as much as he can from this angle, lips slipping over the corner of his mouth and smearing against his jaw. Harry’s other hand is wanking himself off below them, fucking into his fist before pushing back into the cradle of Niall’s hips.

“Niall,” Harry pants and catches his eye suddenly. The look Harry gives him nearly makes Niall’s arms give out. It’s so fucked out but sincere at the same time, heavy and intimate and Niall wishes they were doing this face to face so he could kiss him better, so it was more than a bruising brush of lips. “I’m gonna, gonn-” Harry tells him. He squeezes his eyes shut, mouth dropping open and Niall finds his hands in the duvet, squeezes his fingers as Harry clenches down, coming quickly over the sheets below them.

“Fuck,” Niall chokes out, rocking into him again. He wants to slow down but Harry just grunts, shoulders shaking as he comes down from it and it makes Niall’s skin constrict. A tightness spreading from his shoulders down past his ribs until it pools at the base of his spine. He’s been on edge since he’d pushed in and he can’t help it with the way Harry’s still clenching around him. He rocks into Harry’s perfect arse, one hand grabbing at the flesh of it to see where his dick is disappearing into him before he’s giving in, coming snuggly into the condom.

Harry groans, as if he could feel it and lowers himself onto his forearms, fingers still tangled with Niall’s. He’s still breathing fast and Niall shudders, catching his breath as he pulls carefully out of him.

Harry waits until Niall’s breathing has calmed down a bit before he rolls over into Niall’s chest.

“That was -” Harry says and he sounds tired, wrung out. “Yeah.”

Niall grins and turns his head, pressing a kiss to the side of Harry’s head where his eyes are going droopy. “Yeah,” he agrees and lets Harry burrow in. They’re diagonal across the bed and the duvet’s disappeared down the side of the mattress somewhere but Niall doesn’t care, doesn’t care about anything right now except Harry and his arm slung so casually across his chest.

*

Niall wakes up late the next morning, pillow smooshed to his face instead of Harry’s shoulder but when he inhales he could nearly imagine he was still there. Harry’s already showered though, ready for the day and pulling on his shoes at the bottom of the bed.

“Fuck,” Niall groans and rolls over. He was meant to be up early so he could run over his recipe last minute before they headed to the kitchens. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“I did,” Harry laughs and grins over his shoulder. He looks lovely, the sun framing his face where it streams through the window. Niall can hardly look at him without his breath catching.

_“Fuck,”_ Niall moans again and rolls his face into the dip between the two pillows. It smells of Harry there.

“Come on,” Harry laughs lightly. When Niall peeks out from the pillows he catches Harry grinning at him, it’s a bit smug and Niall forgot he could look like that, smile sharp and eyes indulgent but there’s something soft there too, just for him.

“Good night?” Niall asks softly and Harry’s face breaks into another smile, wider than the last. He shuffles through the mess of clothes on Niall’s floor and leans over so he can press his mouth to a patch of Niall’s shoulder.

“I had a lovely night,” Harry admits and looks up at him, eyes bright. He kisses Niall’s shoulder once more before he sits up. “But we have a busy day today, come on, up you get.”

Niall smiles at him and Harry stands up, finishing buttoning up his shirt. He glances over his shoulder at Niall though and Niall can’t help laughing at his expression, at how smiley he’s being.

They take the tube to the studios because the traffic is busy and it’s a nice day, crisp and cool. Harry grabs his hand when they get off, smiling to himself but not meeting his eyes, refusing to make it a big deal. Niall snorts but grips his fingers tighter as they round the corner. They’ll have to let go soon, in case someone sees but Niall wants to take in the heat of his hand a moment longer. He feels giddy, like it’s pulling him up from the inside, belly floating up near his ribs and his head even higher. His cheeks are aching and he wants to bite his lip to stop him actually laughing out loud. He can’t explain it, it’s like he needs to dig his teeth into the flesh of his bottom lip just at the sheer thought of Harry.

“Good luck,” Niall tells him with a grin when they get to the gate. Harry smiles at him brightly. Niall gets the impression that he’s about to say something something stupid like _won’t need it_ and it makes him want to laugh now, how competitive he is in the kitchen. Harry must manage to bite his tongue because he only grins at him wider and squeezes his fingers before he lets them go.

Staying away from each other in the kitchen is harder than he expected. They’re at stations near each other again and Harry’s already adopting that expression he normally wears when he’s in the kitchen. Small and quietly smug but Niall’s seen it in bed now too and it’s suddenly so much more distracting than it was last time they were in the kitchens.

There’s people milling about around them, producers and cameramen and sound guys. Niall shouldn’t keep throwing glances over his shoulder, hoping to get a glimpse of Harry bent over to get something out of a drawer just so he can stare at his arse. It’ll be caught on camera and his mum will have his head when she sees it.

Harry seems to be having a similar problem.

“You got a sieve I could borrow?” he asks suddenly from behind him and Niall doesn’t even have the chance to turn because he’s pressing up against him, stretching past him to reach for the sieve that’s sitting on the far end of the stove. Harry presses in against his bum and he’s not hard, of course he isn’t but it sends Niall’s head in a spin.

“You not got any apparatus of your own?” Niall asks, rolling his hips back slightly so he can back into Harry. There’s plenty of people about but it sends a thrill through him that they could all see.

Harry snorts, a hand coming up to balance against Niall’s hip and his fingers are hot through his t-shirt.

“You know I’ve got apparatus.” He grinds dirtily up against him before backing away quickly. Niall laughs at how terrible his innuendo is but when he glances over his shoulder Harry looks pleased to hear it.

It’s when he spins back to his bench he catches the light at the corner of his eye, glinting off the shiny metal lens of the camera and his stomach twists. They’re not supposed to be grinding up against each other here, right in front of the cameras.

Niall feels his neck get hot but he grins down at his blackberries, they’re staining his fingers purple again. He squashes them into his bowl, fork slicing through the baubles of them, juice squirting out and the smell of them makes his mouth flood.

“Here, Haz,” he says carelessly. It’s starting to get hot around them, the lights and the steaming saucepans making the air around them stifling. Harry raises an eyebrow at him, fingers sunk knuckle deep in a pile of dough. “Can I have a go with your equipment?”

Harry snorts through his nose and it shouldn’t be attractive but Niall catches the way his knuckles knead at the bread in front of him and he’s back to feeling hot around the edges.

“Sure,” he agrees and one of his hands trails down his front. He’s got dough stuck to his fingers so he doesn’t actually grope himself but his hand strays far enough down that it is implied.

“Stop it,” Niall hisses but he can’t keep the laughter out of his voice. “I have a strict schedule to keep, you know?”

Harry sinks his fingers into his dough again, flashing him his teeth before he smirks again.

“I’m sabotaging you Niall,” Harry tells him and a few weeks ago Niall would’ve believed him. “I’m messing with your game.”

“We’ll see,” Niall banters back and snatches the sieve from the counter in front of him. He really does have a time limit if he wants his dish to be ready in time.

The face Gregg pulls when he bites into his dessert fifteen stress filled minutes later is worth it. Niall feels like he’s floating a few feet off the ground when he moans, like he’s tasting something heaven sent.

“That’s heaven sent,” Gregg tells him a moment later and Niall can’t help but laugh giddily. John raises his eyebrows and Niall wants to clutch at his face or something equally as dramatic.

John doesn’t make a noise like Gregg had, but Niall hadn’t been expecting him to. He does smile though, something tugging up the corner of his mouth as he licks the lavender cream off the back of his spoon. Gregg’s going in for a second bite.

“That’s one of the best meringues I’ve tasted in quite a while, Niall,” John compliments him and Niall raises a few more inches off the ground. Like there’s wings on his back, flapping loudly to buzz in his ears and keeping him afloat. “Crisp and chewy and soft. That lavender is just subtle enough but it’s there, it’s definitely there and the sharp blackberry slicing through it. Beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Niall says and he sounds reverent. Gregg laughs and steals another spoonful before they move on.

In the minute or two as the cameras reset up Niall’s able to catch Harry’s eye and he can’t help grin at him, mouth stretching across his face until his cheeks hurt. Harry meets his gaze but there’s something wilting about his expression and the wings on Niall’s back falter a bit, knocking him off kilter as he takes in Harry’s expression. He looks nervous and it’s so out of place on Harry’s face when he’s cooking that it sets Niall’s mind worrying.

“Now,” John smiles and produces another fork out of the endless stash he and Gregg seem to have. “Let’s see what we’ve got here?”

Niall watches as he tucks in but when he flickers his gaze up to Harry he sees that he’s wincing, eyes trained to John’s fork as he brings it to his mouth.

John frowns and Niall’s back down on earth again, stomach turning to lead.

John just hums around his fork but it doesn’t sound good, not like when Gregg hums around a mouthful of Niall’s blackberry jelly.

John doesn’t even bother to sugar coat it, just frowns and tells him that it’s not to his standard. Niall wonders if he should turn around and face the front, just to give Harry a semblance of privacy in the wide room but he can’t draw his eyes away from his face, the downturn of his mouth and the crease between his eyebrows.

“It’s too doughy,” John complains and Niall’s heart sinks. “It’s too dense.” John knocks the bread off the counter and it sounds too thick and hard. “Maybe you got your weights mixed up or kneaded it too much but this isn’t how to make good bread. You need to practise it properly.”

Niall cringes to himself because he knows that Harry could’ve taken more time to practise, they both could have.

“It’s a shame,” Gregg agrees and Niall watches as he spoons through his bowl. “It’s a real shame that this consommé isn’t up to scratch, the flavours are nearly there and it just needs a bit more refining. Not the best effort today, mate.”

“Sorry,” Harry mutters and Niall whips his head up to see his face. He sounds so downhearted that it makes Niall feel sick. Harry’s folding over on himself a bit, hunched over in on himself and he’s glaring down at his dish like he could fix it through the power of his stare.

Gregg gives him a bland smile before they’re off to the next bench, cameras resetting and lights refocused. Niall tries to catch Harry’s eye but he ignores him, staring down at his plate and not giving any indication he’s noticed Niall. Niall turns then, heart beating quickly and stands frontfacing instead, running his thumb along the edge of his plate as John critiques Mary at the last bench, watching the smears his fingertips make on the white china. He doesn’t want to think what would happen if Harry went out. It’s getting so close to the end now and the thought of it makes panic claw up his throat. His cream is melting into a lilac sludge in the middle of the plate.

They’re ushered back into the lounge and Harry sits hunched in on himself at the corner of the sofa. He doesn’t leaf leisurely through a cookbook or eat any of Niall’s dessert that he’s smuggled out of the kitchen. He just gnaws on the edge of his thumb and avoids eye contact with Niall.

Niall itches to grab his hand when they go in for the judging. The lights are bright again and he has to squint against them to catch the flicker of emotion crossing Harry’s face. He doesn’t, instead stands as close as he can to them without a producer shouting at them.

“The person going home today is -”

It’s like deja vu, except this time the nerves rattling through Niall’s belly are for the both of them, Harry’s outcome now interlinked with his in his gut. He feels like he’s on bated breath, chest constricting around his lungs as he tries to suck in air. He tries to keep Gregg’s grinning face in his mind, he’s not going home, he can’t be but then he remembers the wilt to Harry’s expression and his stomach ties in knots again.

It’s a blur of white noise in his ears but John’s lips aren’t closing around Harry’s name and there’s a split second that Harry deflates beside him, arm jostling into Niall’s as he sags with relief.

“Not me,” Harry murmurs and Niall gathers him up into a quick hug because that’s what they’ve started doing now, all the contestants falling into friendly hugs with each other now that they’ve gotten through so many heats. He runs a hand up Harry’s sweaty back before he spins and hugs Mary who’s starting to blubber about being a semi finalist.

“You ok?” Niall asks him quietly when they’re let out. He’d wanted to wait until the rest of the contestants had left but now it’s just them in the locker room, it’s too quiet, his voice echoing a bit down the aisle. Harry glances up at him, face stony.

“I should’ve practised more,” Harry repeats and Niall feels his gut twist. There’s something in his tone, far more than just sad about not getting the praise he normally gets. It unsettles Niall and it’s like Niall’s reaching for something and it’s just out of his grasp.

“It’s alright,” Niall tries to console him and he plasters his best smile on his face. He thinks of this morning and something in his chest expands. “You got through, we both got through!”

Harry looks up at him and he’s not smiling yet, eyes squinting slightly as if he’s trying to work it all out in his head.

“The semi finals!” Niall exclaims, chest feeling tight. “This is madness!”

Harry nods belatedly and tries to smile. “Yeah, the semis.”

There’s something missing, but Niall doesn’t call him out for it. He just grins at him back and buttons up his coat.

“Look,” Niall says, watching as Harry hangs up his apron. “Do you want to go have a drink? Blow off some steam?”

Harry shakes his head once and then glances up at him, wincing slightly. There’s something clouding behind his eyes and Niall tries not to think of storms and that this is a calm before one.

“Yeah,” Harry finally smiles thinly. “Maybe a drink would be a good idea.”

Niall grins, plans formulating in his head already for how to cheer Harry up. It involves fruity beers that taste like shit and his mouth.

“We could go to the market?” Niall suggests and reaches out to grip at Harry’s elbow, fingers fitting into the crease of his arm. “Get some chocolate, the real good stuff and I could make us dinner after? Or we could skip dinner all together and get really really fucked? Do you think we could both fit in a portaloo?”

Harry takes a moment to return the smile before he pulls out of Niall’s grip to pull on his coat. “Sounds good.”

Niall’s shoulders deflate a bit but he keeps his smile glued to his face for Harry. They got through, that’s what matters.

*

“You’re doing it again,” Zayn complains and Niall startles. It’s cool out and he has a scarf slung over his neck, flapping down onto his chest and beside him Zayn looks bundled up, wool spiraled round his neck so his chin is hidden from the wind. It’s better now that they’re amongst the bustle of people but it’s still chilly. Niall wonders if they’ll be selling hot cider, his fingers are like ice.

“Doing what?” Niall asks and Zayn rolls his eyes, stepping to the side to avoid walking into a woman trying to eat churros without dripping chocolate down her chin.

“That frowny grin thing.” Zayn ducks his head and flicks his lighter on. It sparks up and blows out in the wind.

Niall laughs and tries to even out his forehead. He just ends up waggling his eyebrows a bit.

Zayn shakes his head but he’s smiling too, Niall can see it from the corner of his eye.

“Don’t act like Perrie doesn’t put a smile on your face, you soppy git,” Niall complains but he’s still smiling. Zayn looks up, eyes wide.

“I am _not_ ,” he defends himself and then takes a breath, smile gracing his face again. “At least I don’t look annoyed about it.”

Niall laughs again, light and it’s buoying him up again. “Yeah, sorry, I’m just a bit worried and excited at the same time, does that make sense?” Harry had asked to meet him there and there was something about a text devoid of emojis that had made his heart twist.

Zayn shrugs and goes to light his cigarette again. “Just focus on the good.”

Niall hums and swings the bag in his hand, it’s just a few things for later - things Niall doesn’t think they’ll be able to buy at a market. Zayn had laughed at him back in the house for it, picking up a pair of boxers off the radiator in the kitchen and chucking them in on top of the condoms Niall had thought that he’d hidden well enough amongst the bag of rice and tub of olives. He had joked that he had forgotten to bring his toothbrush with him but Niall hadn’t felt the need to tell him that he’s already got one there, he didn’t need Zayn laughing at him more.

“Look,” Niall sighs and thinks back to this afternoon. “Today was really shit and Harry needs cheering up, so I’m gonna have to be extra cheerful for the both of us.”

“I don’t need to hear about how you plan on cheering him up, ta,” Zayn mutters. Niall only grins at him, shrugging his shoulders a bit because what Zayn doesn’t know, won’t hurt him.

Zayn shakes his head again beside him and finally lights a cigarette, stopping to cup his hand around his mouth against the wind and it’s in this pause that Niall sees him.

He’s not dressed for the weather at all and Niall has the sudden urge to shake off his coat and wrap it around Harry’s shoulders, curved against the cold.

“You think it’s summer or something?” Niall calls across the road and leaves Zayn where he is, clicking at his lighter, back to them.

Harry looks up startled, he’s fiddling with a bag of fudge but he doesn’t look like he’s that interested in actually buying any. Niall could make better sweets anyway for half the price. He’s only in a thin jumper, Niall can see the curve of his butterfly through it and he’s torn between wanting to push it up under his armpits and lick at the antenna or swaddle him in his scarf.

“Hi,” Harry greets him and Niall opens an arm, half expecting a hug or a kiss smudged across his cheek. Harry doesn’t though and his arm hangs awkwardly in the air. Niall swallows, letting his hand fall limply by his side again, his overnight bag a dead weight against his leg. He takes a deep breath, body readying itself even if his mind hasn’t caught up yet. He’s not sure what’s coming.

“You thinking of indulging your sweet tooth?” Niall asks lightly. There’s something wrong, he can feel it in the stilted air between them. Harry looks up at him again and it’s awkward, a quick glance before he’s pulling at the ribbon around a bag of honeycomb pieces. It’s pink and it unfurls easily.

“Uuuhh,” Harry says and he’s stalling. Niall feels like he’s teetering on the edge of cliff, toes slipping off the edge as Harry looks up at him again, half wincing because he already knows what’s coming.

“What is it?” Niall asks softly. His fingers are going numb but he can’t move his hand into his pocket, not when Harry’s look is rooting him to the spot.

“I don’t think - “ Harry breaks off and looks up at him again, meeting his eye and Niall can tell how brutally honest this is going to be.

“You don’t think?” Niall prompts because he needs this to be over and done with by now. Someone pushes past him to get at the toffee and there’s a couple getting something chocolatey. They’re holding hands and have matching scarves, Niall sort of wants to die.

“It’s a competition,” Harry starts to explain it to him and he sounds so desperate suddenly to get this all out. Niall gulps, his mouth dropping open again as he watches Harry speak. “You’re a distraction and I said to myself when I got through that first week when I was so sure I was going home, I said to myself that this is my only chance. And then today,” Harry breaks off and clears his throat. His tone goes lower, more serious. “Today I did it again, I put my food on the line. This is a once in a lifetime chance and I’m not going to have anything ruin it.”

“Ruin it,” Niall echoes and Harry’s face scrunches up.

“No, you know what I mean though, I can’t afford to have anything fuck this up. I can’t fuck it up and I can’t drag you into it and fuck that up too.” Harry pushes a hand through his hair and stares at him wide eyed for a moment. He’s been biting at his lip too and Niall gets a shock reminder of how chapped his lips sometimes feel, brushing against his jaw or the sensitive spot under his ear. This morning the thought of them against his lips made him want to shout and sing and now it just makes him feel vaguely sick.

“Last night - “ Niall mutters and Harry’s eyes close, scrunching at the corners with how tight he’s squeezing them shut.

"I need to push myself.” Harry says quietly. “I need to keep my focus and you’re being too distracting. If I want to _win_ \- Last night was -"

"What a pile of utter bullshit," Niall can’t help but mutter to himself and he doesn't have to shout because he can see the way Harry flinches anyway, he knows he’s heard him loud and clear. “So we’re breaking -” he stops himself just as Harry’s eyes snap open again. There was nothing really there to break up to begin with and Niall suddenly feels silly, he swallows harshly. It’s like he’s built up this wonderful world only to have it all fall around his feet. “Stopping,” he corrects himself. “We’re stopping this.”

Harry nods silently and later, Niall will think that his sincerity was nice but right now he doesn’t really know what to do. The bag in his hand knocks against his knees again but he can’t move, even when Harry turns his attention back to the ribbon of the honeycomb in his hand. He’s going to have to pay for it or tie it back up again and Niall isn’t sure if he can stand there and watch as he fiddles with the slippery ribbon because it should be cute, how he messes up the loop and tries to charm the little lady who’s selling the bags into redoing it for him.

“Ok,” Niall says hollowly and he turns around before he can stop himself. Harry looks up sharply and watches him, face falling and he looks as sad as Niall feels but that does little to make him feel better. His muscles have given up on him, legs heavy as he makes his way over to Zayn. There’s a big ball of something lodged in the middle of his chest and he tries to keep it in, tries to focus on each breath he takes and how his chest expands, ribs aching but still keeping everything nice and tight inside.

Zayn’s still over by the corner, near the end of his cigarette and it dawns on Niall that his whole conversation with Harry hadn’t even lasted over five minutes.

“What’s wrong?” Zayn asks him instantly when Niall’s within earshot. “Did you forget something?”

“I’m going to go home,” Niall tells him and he feels like he’s watching the conversation from somewhere outside his body, like he’s left half of him back there with Harry, tying ribbons around bags of toffee and honeycomb that they’ll probably end up buying anyway because it’s a market and it feels festive. He would’ve put honeycomb in their dessert.

“Niall?” Zayn asks carefully but Niall just pushes a smile onto his face and grips his bag tighter, the hot feeling of embarrassment washing over him at how excited he had been, how pre-prepared he’d been when he should’ve realised that this was all too good to be true.

“I’m just going to go to bed,” Niall tells him and turns to walk back out the makeshift gates of the market at the end of the street. “I’m suddenly not feeling very sociable.”

Zayn watches him take a few steps before he starts to follow him and Niall doesn’t have the energy to tell him to leave him alone. Just walks, shell shocked, back to the flat with Zayn following him three steps behind.

Zayn has to unlock the door. Niall’s fingers aren’t working and he can’t fit his key into the lock. Zayn presses up against him, a hand a hot weight against the base of his back and Niall’s head swims as he leans back into it.

It’s dark inside, the evening finally turning into night while they had been away and they hadn’t left any lights on for when they got back. Niall stumbles in their hallway and Zayn’s hand shoots out to steady him again. Always there, hot against his skin this time as it closes around the space where his coat sleeve has ridden up.

He spins into it ungracefully, tilting dangerously to the side until Zayn rights him again. Zayn stands still and Niall can just make out the edge of his face and smoothness of his forehead in the dim of their flat. He could kiss him like this, they’re pressed so close. His head swims again, clouding over as he tries to make sense of everything.

“Zayn,” he whispers and he hates how he sounds. Broken and upset and desperate. He sounds small and pathetic and he’s using it against Zayn at the minute, dropping his voice low to match his mood. “Zayn, please.”

He could lean in and kiss him and forget that it isn’t Zayn’s stubble against his chin but Harry’s. That it wasn’t Zayn’s fingers wrapped around his bicep but Harry’s, keeping him steady.

“You should go to bed,” Zayn responds instead, voice tight and unforgiving.

Niall’s stomach bottoms out for the second time that night and he lets out his breath in a choked huff of air.

“Fuck,” he breathes and tries to reconcile what he tried to do with what’s going on in his head.

Zayn takes a very definite step back.

“Christ, Zayn,” Niall mutters and he shoves his hand into his hair,pulling on the tuft near the front. It’s cold from being outside and it stings a bit when he tugs, pain radiating sharply down his forehead. “I’m so sor-”

“No,” he mutters and his voice is low, rough with anger. “No, you don’t get to talk now.”

“I’m so sorry,” Niall ignores him and presses on. Zayn takes another step back and grits his teeth, Niall can see the way his jaw grinds down on them.

“You can’t -” he breaks off and his voice sounds thin, like it gets when he’s angry.

“I’m sorr-” Niall tries again, stepping so there isn’t a huge gap between them and he gets a flash of Zayn’s eyes again.

Niall stands quietly in the middle of the living room and neither of them move to turn on a light. He doesn’t want to, because Zayn will see the shine in his eyes if he does. He turns his back on Zayn and moves through the flat by memory, waiting until he can faceplant into his bed before he even lets himself think of crying.

He chokes on a sob, throat constricting as he swallows, hugging his pillow tighter and everything smells overwhelming of Harry.

*

The next morning, Niall hides in his room, tucked under his covers until he hears Zayn eat his breakfast and leaves. He feels like shit, tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and his stomach is in bits, as if his body is reacting to the clench in his chest.

He manages to drag himself out of bed by lunchtime, shoving his sheets into the washing machine. His mum would scold him if he sat in dirty sheets all day sniffing them and Zayn would turn his nose up so he beats them to it and pours half the bottle of fabric conditioner into the drawer so they’ll smell of jasmine and nothing like vanilla essence and warm skin. He watches the end of This Morning, Gino’s made something sticky and tomato-y and it makes his mouth water. Holly moans a bit when she takes a bite and Niall blinks, head skittering back to feeding Harry pasta a mere two days ago. He can’t help thinking what Harry’s making for lunch later, if he’s rustled something up or if he’s just jumped straight into practising for his precious competition.

“Fuck sake,” Niall moans and presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. Scofield is asking if he needs to throw his pasta at the ceiling to get it right and Gino’s making some comment about his Nana and a bicycle but instead of laughing Niall’s just thinking about Harry’s perfect pasta technique and how he’ll have to see him in less than a fortnight, focused and determined and back on his game.

He hears the key scrape in the lock and Niall’s shoulders lock but he doesn’t get up.

Zayn pokes his head through the door and he’s smiling, eyes going soft when he spots him. Niall feels something unravel in his chest and he wants to cry a bit again because he isn’t sure he’d be able to handle it if Zayn was still angry with him.

“I brought chicken,” Zayn waves a KFC bag in his hand at him and Niall tries to smile. “I’d just fuck up the batter if I tried and I didn’t think you’d be up to making anything today so I thought I’d leave it to the colonel.”

Niall gives him a watery smile and Zayn collapses beside him on the coach.

“Sweet dress, Holly,” Zayn comments as he rips into the bag. There’s still a good few inches between them on the sofa.

“Were you the first one there this morning?” Niall asks and accepts the bag of fries Zayn hands him. Zayn looks shifty for a moment and Niall finally feels a smile stretch his lips. “What time does KFC even open at?”

“Not early enough,” he comments and opens the lid of the bargain bucket.

Niall laughs and closes the gap between them, pressing his shoulder up against Zayn’s arm.

“Thank you,” he says quietly and Zayn huffs out a laugh, balancing a tub of gravy on the coffee table in front of him before stretching back and wrapping his arm around Niall’s shoulder, pulling him in closer for a proper hug.

“No need to thank me, what else am I here for?” Zayn asks but the lightness to his tone is forced, Niall knows there’s something else. It makes his stomach roll and maybe greasy KFC isn’t the best thing first thing but he swallows and shoves his hand into the bag of chips in his lap.

“I’m here for you,” Zayn goes on a moment later and Niall’s sat up a bit, shoving a chip into his mouth so he doesn’t have to respond. Zayn smirks a bit and tears off a piece of chicken skin. “I’m your best mate and I - I just can’t do the kissing thing, not anymore.”

Niall nods. He knows he’s right. Zayn keeps his gaze for a moment longer, before blinking, nodding a bit. He tucks into a piece of chicken and just like that their big serious talk is over. Niall’s shoulders relaxes a bit.

“Do you think Gino could make chicken as good as this?” Zayn asks. His lips are smeared with grease and Niall laughs.

“Yeah,” Niall nods seriously, shoving the chips into Zayn’s lap so he can pull out a drumstick. “Heard he trained in the branch down by the Colosseum.”

Zayn narrows his eyes at him before swatting at him, wiping greasy fingers down the side of his jaw and neck.

“You’re disgusting,” Niall tells him, dodging out of the way and leaning in to rub his face against the softness of Zayn’s hoodie.

Zayn doesn’t say anything, just takes the opportunity to tuck Niall in tighter against his ribs.

“You’re making this for dessert after,” he says lightly and Niall blinks up, watching as Gino lights the top of his tiramisu. It’s not melting and Niall wonders if flaming desserts would get him into the next round. If it would impress Gregg and John and more importantly, if it would make him beat Harry.

*  
Niall spends three straight days trying to make a panna cotta that doesn’t melt. He just goes through a few gallons of cream and everything in the flat smells of vanilla.

“It’s like goopy yoghurt,” Zayn comments and screws his nose up. Niall sighs and leans against the bench.

“I don’t think I can do it,” Niall mutters and looks at the mess he’s made. It’s his first batch of the day but he’s slept so long that Zayn’s just home from work. Niall blinks the grit out of his eyes, he’s only up really, sleep schedule up the left as he cooks well into the early morning.

“No,” Zayn agrees. “It’s supposed to be cold, I don’t think you can set it on fire and have it not melt.”

Niall rolls his eyes and throws the bowl into the sink. He had planned on fluttering his eyelashes until Zayn did the dishes tonight but he’s not sure he’ll be able to get away with it now.

“Just make a crème brulee or something?” Zayn suggests and sticks his spoon into a panna cotta that Niall hadn’t the chance to burn yet. He raises his eyebrows and hums.

“Crème brulee is _supposed_ to heated. There’s absolutely nothing impressive about that,” Niall tells him and tries not to huff. He can’t help it though, he doesn’t know how he can push the boat out this time.

“Put a bit of caramel over this and whack it on fire, the rest of it tastes good,” Zayn tells him through a mouthful of dessert. “Or light something else on fire, like a potato or something? Try it out now and then I can eat it.”

Zayn pats his stomach and reaches up with his other hand to loosen his tie. Niall snorts and goes to the fridge. There’s another huge bucket of cream and some carrots. He’s not sure what he can rustle up for dinner out of that.

“Creamed carrots?” he suggests and watches as Zayn screws up his face again.

“I’m not three, am I?” Zayn asks and reaches past him for a beer in the door. “Stop experimenting with our real food.”

It’s too light hearted to be a real scolding but Niall feels a prickle of guilt.

“I’ll sort it,” Niall promises and reaches for his coat off the kitchen chair. “I’ll go to Asda and get something good.”

Zayn nods distractedly at him but he’s already tapping at his phone and Niall knows there’s going to be a series of loved up snapchats to Perrie in any moment now so he picks up his phone out of the bread bin and leaves before he has to endure Zayn making funny faces at his phone.

It’s sort of predictable that he sees him there, bent over the courgettes like he‘s hunting for the best one. He should’ve took the bus to the Tesco.

Niall had been planning on making something with aubergine. He wasn’t sure what but he had imagined some sort of roast involving a few courgettes as well but he can’t move, his hand curling around a packet of red peppers like a life line.

Harry’s jeans are sliding low on his hips just so Niall can see a sliver of the pale skin of his back and the waistband of his boxers, tight and black stretching over his skin. Niall swallows and he feels sort of pathetic, trailing his eyes over his ex - whatever they were as if he’s still allowed to. When Harry straightens up Niall realises he’s on the phone, grin painted onto his face as he laughs along and tosses a few courgettes into his trolley. There’s too much in it for Niall to see what else he’s buying and he takes a step back, scolding himself for being so nosy.

Niall wonders if he can make enough for dinner with the mushrooms and peppers in his basket. He can’t loiter in the veg aisle until Harry disappears just so he can grab an aubergine.

Harry ruffles his hand through his hair, laughing again and it looks so familiar that it makes Niall’s gut clench and he wants for a wild moment to march over to snatch his phone away, to be the one to make him laugh like that again.

He forces himself to turn instead, leaving his half full basket on the ground beside the grapes and heading straight out the door. His trainers catch on the shiny floor for a minute, making that noise that reminds him of basketball on rainy lunchtimes and then he’s outside again in the dark, evening air. It’s busy, people pushing past him on the way back home after work and Niall has to blink and swallow before his feet are walking him to the bus stop before he can look back.

Zayn’s half asleep by the time he gets back, arms teeming with the stuff he’d got at the big Tesco. It’s been working on him the whole way back on the bus, the gnawing itch to get back into the kitchen, the need to get his hands into something and make something delicious. Zayn staggers in to meet him just as Niall unpacks the last bag, chucking an avocado near the kettle and wondering when he stuck Dairylea into his basket.

Harry’s words from the other day are at the back of his mind, stuck there like an annoying song, _‘if I want to win, if I want to win,’_

Well, Niall’s just decided on the 76B that _he_ wants to win and he’s not going to do it with goopy panna cotta and burnt crème brulee.

“Did you get anything for actual dinner?” Zayn asks mildly as Niall fishes out five spice and cloves from the bottom of the bag. He picked up some duck at the last minute and a bottle of Cointreau and he’s deciding whether to make a sauce out of it or just crack it open and drink it.

“Yeah,” Niall nods and he sounds breathless, he’s that hyped up. “Course I did.” He surveys the pile of ingredients on the bench and it sort of looks like he’s just tipped everything out, like he’s doing the last challenge in Ready Steady Cook.

“Ok,” Zayn laughs and glances over the mix of food on the counter. “Get back to me on that then.”

Niall nods distractedly, missing as Zayn howks out from the drawer the menu for the Chinese down the road that gives them free delivery. He’s got bigger things to worry about than Zayn’s obsession for prawn crackers.

He picks up the bottle of Cointreau and unscrews it, the crack of the foil around the opening of the bottle separating loudly satisfying in the quiet of the kitchen. He takes a gulp of it and it’s too sweet, sickenly so but he takes another one for luck and gets to work.

 

*

 

Harry lets himself into Niall’s flat one rainy afternoon when Niall’s just barely made it to bed. The kitchen is still a mess and smells of fresh bread and chicken stock and the sweet potato fritters Niall made Zayn for his breakfast.

He’s half conscious, flopping over onto his back and mumbling sleepily under his breath.

“Who’s there?” It’s not a very good defence, and if it was a burglar they would be halfway out the door with his laptop and a freshly baked orange, cranberry and yoghurt muffin.

“You look like shit,” Harry comments instead and Niall snaps his eyes open. He’s upside down due to the way Niall’s curled in the sheets at the bottom of the bed and the hair that isn’t tucked under his beanie is dripping down his cheeks.

“You look great.” Niall had progressed to whiskey after the Cointreau had run out but that was three whole days ago and his tongue feels like it’s been made out of sandpaper. The sleep deprivation is making him go loopy but even from this angle he can tell that Harry looks good, slightly pink cheeked from walking up all the stairs to Niall’s flat and cold wind outside. He lets it sink into his head and it takes a moment for it to cut through the fog of his brain that it's Harry and he's somehow in his bed. Niall sits up and flops across the mattress. His eyes feel grainy but he forces them open.

“How’d you get in?”

“Zayn.”

Niall frowns and shakes his head. His sheets are soft against his cheeks and he can feel the long tug back to sleep. “Zayn’s working."

"He was worried," Harry tells him quietly even though it doesn’t really answer the question. Niall hears him sigh and then the low thump of a jacket landing on the floor, followed by the clack of a belt buckle and the rest of his jeans.

"What are you doing?" Niall asks and watches in a stupor as Harry knees up onto the bed. He’s still a bit damp but he tips off his beanie, ruffling his hair underneath until it’s an unruly mess and chucks it into the corner of the room. Niall blinks at him, struggling to keep his eyes open and marvels sleepily how great he looks. Harry laughs softly, almost nervous and Niall doesn’t have the energy to be embarrassed he’s staring. Instead it’s focusing itself at being annoyed.

“You ran away from me,” Harry says and Niall isn’t sure if he means at the market or in Asda. He feels a flush warm his cheeks if it’s the latter because he had hoped that Harry hadn’t seen him.

"You shouldn't be here," Niall tells him, finding his voice again. Harry's face looks tight, the nerves back but he shuffles as close as he can to Niall and Niall lets him for the moment because there's a soft, silly part of him that likes that he's there. That he's been worried about him and is here to check on him. He lets Harry gather him up, lets his hand roll him until he can push his nose into Harry’s damp neck and breathe him in. The smell of rain and something spicy, maybe szechuan pepper.

But there's also a harder part of him, tucked deep down in a place inside him where he hardly ever has to delve, that makes him struggle to roll out of Harry's embrace a moment later.

"You can't just waltz in here, knight in shining armour and hope that I'm going to flop back into your arms." Nialls words are all running in together he's so tired but he manages to stare him out. He pushes himself up onto his hands and he's aware that the duvet is pooling around his waist now and that he's got coffee stained down his t-shirt and it’s gaping around his neck because it actually belongs to Harry. He's not going to tell him that though.

"If you just listen," Harry starts to say but Niall shakes his head and fights hard against the part of him that wants to glance away from Harry’s eyes, burning grey-green in the dim of Niall’s room.

"Harry, I'm too tired to do this now. The semi final is in 36 hours and I just can't - you're being too distracting."

It might be a low blow, using Harry's words against him but Niall doesn't care, he’s buffered along by the residue Jameson rolling in his gut. He turns his head away when Harry's face falls, a second later like he's just registering his words and maybe his mind flashed back to that cold night at the market just like Niall’s did.

"Oh," is all he says and clambers back out of bed. He pulls on his jeans and Nialls struck by how ridiculous the situation is. How Harry just stripped off and made himself at home in Niall’s bed, like he belonged there. Niall tries not to think that he does.

"I'm sorry," Harry apologises again, wincing as he pulls on his soaked coat. "If you just -"

"Night Harry," Niall tells him firmly and lies back into his pillow. Harry looks at him for a moment and it feels like he's naked, that the duvet isn't there at all and it makes his stomach squirm in a way that isn't entirely uncomfortable. Harry gives him one last glance before he slips out the door and Niall lies there, heart beating too fast for how close he is to passing out, waiting for the slam of the door until he finally gives in to black.

*

"So you suddenly enjoy letting people's exes into the house on a whim do you?" Niall asks and chops a bunch of parsley too roughly. It'll never look pretty on the top of his dish and he's sure this is the last bunch but Zayn’s glaring at him now, doing that thing with his eyebrows that he does when he's getting defensive so Niall keeps pushing his knife through the herbs.

"What?"

“He's not an ex," Niall rolls his eyes. "But you know how much Harry messes with my head and you just let him on in while I was _sleeping,_ "

Zayns face softens. "I was worried. I thought he'd be able to help you calm down before the competition."

"Clearly," Niall mutters and grabs a handful of his parsley and deposits it promptly into the bin. Zayn arches an eyebrow him and then takes a step forward. He's in his work shirt and Niall feels a stab of guilt at taking it out on Zayn before he leaves. He turns to him automatically and Zayn grabs his shoulder to pull him into a hug.

"You're gonna smash it, y’know," Zayn tells him and Niall feels his shoulders deflate. He isn't so sure anymore, Zayn had tasted everything separately the past few days and Niall thinks it tastes great, but most of the time he’s tasted it all together he’s been smashed so he isn’t sure if that counts. Everything tastes like heaven when you’re wasted.

“Just don’t want to ruin it y’know?” Niall asks and inhales the washing powder smell of Zayn’s collar. “Don’t want it to end.”

“It won’t,” Zayn promises him and scratches at his neck. “And if it’s all going south, spit in Harry’s or something.”

Niall laughs and when he pulls away Zayn’s grinning at him. Niall copies him and tries to keep it there the whole way to the studio.

*

Niall has thirteen minutes left.

It’s hot, three saucepans bubbling on the gas flames in front of him, steaming away and heating him up. He’s had to pull off his jumper twenty minutes ago and lose his glasses because they kept getting steamed up.

“I’m supposed to be ignoring you.”

Niall can feel the shadow over his counter as well as see it. The studio lights blaring down on him and making him feel the pressure. He glances up and catches a peek of Harry’s expression and he looks so determined that Niall’s heart sinks a little, even if he wasn’t even thinking of Harry before he came over to his workstation.

“What are you doing here then?” Niall asks and starts to chop up a radish. He tries to keep his tone light but there’s an edge to it and there’s a vindictive part of that enjoys the way it’s came out when he’s speaking. He risks a glance up again and catches the way Harry looks at the floor for a moment before back up at him, eyes piercing when they meet.

“Can’t stop thinking about you,” Harry admits and Niall’s stomach buoys up so fast that he feels ill with it, like he’s on a boat and not ready for it. He re-adjusts his grip on his knife so he doesn’t drop it, fingers slippery around the handle.

“And you thought that now would be a good time to discuss this?” Niall asks quietly, turning his glare on the fleshy insides of his vegetables. He needs to chop them fine enough to go into his salsa and poach his cherries and rest his duck. Harry leans closer, head bent over Niall’s chopping board.

“I can’t go on with you right here beside me and not knowing it.” He says it so quietly that Niall nearly doesn’t hear it over the hiss of his saucepans. He shoves his spoon into one of them, stirring his peas so he has something to do. He doesn’t want to think what Harry’s dish is doing on the other side of the room, left on it’s own to putter away while he chit chats to Niall. The last they done this it was full of innuendo and Niall’s heart pangs for the easiness of it.

“You’re losing time,” Niall tells him instead. “Go on, get back to it.” Harry lifts his eyes and he looks disappointed. Niall’s floored if he’s being honest with himself. He’s spent the past few days throwing himself into getting prepared for the next stages of the competition and now Harry’s coming back to him with this. “You have to get to the next bit.” Niall tries to smile but it comes out thin and bland. Harry’s eyes ease a bit all the same. He takes a step back and it’s like Niall’s back in the room, the clack of cutlery and chop of knives. There’s a camera to his left and one moving up behind Harry and Gregg’s getting ready to say something up at the top of the room.

Niall risks lifting a hand, catching Harry by the cuff of his shirt. It’s warm and slightly damp like he’s stuck it in a puddle of something but Niall twists his fingers in it until the material goes tight around Harry’s skin and he knows he’s got him.

“I’ll see you at the other side,” Niall promises him and Harry looks relieved, stepping back to his own oven. Niall watches him, their eyes locked until Harry finally realises something’s very close to burning in his oven and he kicks into action, turning down his rings and pulling the oven door open.

Niall laughs and knows that it’s making it into the show. He turns back to the beginnings of his salsa and he knows he should’ve been more tough, kept Harry at an arms length but he can already feels something settle in his stomach.

He plates his food, aware the whole time of the shake in his hand and the sweat gathering in the dip between his eyebrows. His shirt is sticking to him and Gregg keeps throwing furtive glances over at where he’s towering caramel onto his plate.

“Alright!” A producer yells. “That’s time.”

Niall has to physically take a step back so he doesn’t fiddle with his plate anymore, wipe at the smears on the rim of the china or tweak his sugar work. He risks a glance over at Harry and he’s relieved that he’s focused on his own plate, glaring at it from his spot a foot away from the bench.

They have to walk to the front of the room this time and Niall fears he’s going to drop his plate, stomach clenched and legs hardly moving as he shuffles up to the front. He can feel eyes on the back of his neck and he hopes he hasn’t sweated too much through his shirt - he’s always reminded painfully at this moment that this is going to be beamed across the UK in a few weeks.

“It’s - “John takes a deep breath. They haven’t even stuck their fork in yet and Niall knows that isn’t a good sign. “It’s a duck in a sugar cage.”

Niall nods and Gregg barks a laugh. “This is an interesting one, that’s for sure.”

The caramel cracks when they break it and Niall’s shoulder loosen a bit. The duck’s just pink enough and the sauce is glossy. His potato is soft and the perfect size and Niall seriously is not expecting to see them frown when he looks up.

“It’s confused,” Gregg says as if this is going to lessen the blow. Niall can already feel the panic building at the back of his throat. “That caramel and sauce is destined to be in a dessert, something buttery and warming with that perfect sweet and sharp cherry sauce to cut through it and a little bit of glitz with the sugar, perfect. Smothered over a duck, not so much.”

Niall swallows around the lump in his throat. He thought he had been taking a risk, putting his neck on the line to create something interesting and delicious and John just winces as he skims his fork through the sauce.

“Yeah,” he says simply. “Doesn’t really work great together. The cherry and duck would’ve been perfect if you’d stuck a bit of red wine in there, made it more of a sauce for the meat and not for a fruit salad.”

Niall nods, keeping his eyes down. It looks dilapidated now, his duck torn apart and his cherries soaking red into his soggy potato.

“Hard luck, Niall,” Gregg says and it’s a far cry from the moaning Niall was hoping for. Niall nods and lifts his plate with even shakier fingers. He keeps his head down until he gets to his bench and tries to ignore Harry’s eyes boring into him the whole way.

He wants to hide in the bathroom during the deliberation but he’s trailed into the waiting room to give an interview and he knows it’s going to be the last one he’ll give. There’s a sort of finality that he can’t ignore, it makes it hard to swallow.

Harry sits beside him the whole time, hand between them and palm up. He doesn’t say anything and Niall makes no move to take it.

Their knuckles brush as they get up to go back into the studio but Niall’s stomach is in knots so he hardly notices.

“The person not going into the final is -” Gregg starts and it’s painful, the wait he leaves after his sentence. Beside him Harry takes a deep breath, shoulders rising to his full height as he sucks in all the air his chest can take. Niall doesn’t know how he does it, his chest feels too tight to hold anything in there.

“Niall.”

It’s like he’s been plunged under water. His throat seizes up and he tries with all his might not to cry. His head drops and his fingers curl into his palm, making a fist. He wonders where those wandering fingers have went to now and when he glances an inch to his right he sees Harry, shoulders slumped and grin splitting his face, happy that he’s through to the next round.

“Thanks,” Niall says on a shaky breath. He can’t lift his head, he’s aware of all the producers around him, the cameramen and how Gregg and John are pulling faux troubled expressions.

Harry turns to him then, face falling as if he’s just fully realised what’s happened and Niall tries not to look at him as he turns towards the door. He doesn’t manage it though, catching the way his eyes look too bright and that’s when he feels the first choke of a sob.

He swallows it down and heads towards the door, letting it bang behind him and he knows there’s a camera in here too, capturing on film how he scrunches his face and scrubs the collar of his jumper over his face. The apron feels tight around his waist and he pulls at the strings, yanking it over his head before he breaks down.

He can hear the rest of them on the other side of it - celebrating and it just makes Niall’s gut twist.

 

It’s pouring by the time Niall gets home. He trudges up the steps from the tube and walks even though he’s not wearing a thick enough coat. It’s stuck to his skin by the time he reaches the flat, his hair plastered to his forehead and his face is so wet that he’s not sure whether it’s tears or rain dripping off his chin.

There’s a lump in his doorstep, pressed against the glass of their door so the rain wouldn’t hit it and he turns his head when he hears the wet slap of Niall’s shoes against the pavement.

“What are you doing here?” Niall asks him glumly, pushing past him to swipe his fob off the side of the door.

“Where have you been?” Harry asks and Niall looks at him, brain going numb along with his toes. The light in the hallway comes on automatically and Niall shakes the rain off his head a bit.

He thinks about closing the door in Harry’s face but he somehow stops himself and holds the door for him. Harry ducks in behind him and Niall can see how one side of his jumper is soaked and the other dry.

“Thought you’d be out celebrating,” Niall mutters to him once he’s kicked open the door to his flat. Zayn isn’t in, all the lights are out and Niall shivers as he leans down to get the lamp by the sofa.

“Niall,” Harry sighs behind him and Niall sort of wants to cry again.

“I’m fine,” he sniffs and straightens his back. He doesn’t look round at Harry again but after a few moments he feels a hand at his shoulder pushing him into the sofa. Niall goes with it, legs suddenly tired after walking home and being on his feet all day. His jeans are soaked, like a heavy second skin, probably turning his knees blue but he doesn’t care anymore.

“I’ll get you something to warm you up,” Harry tells him and he hesitates for a moment, like he’s going to kiss Niall’s forehead but thinks better of it.

Niall picks at the knee of his jeans while he waits. He can hear him clatter about in the kitchen and he knows it’s probably a mess from all of his practising but he doesn’t move to help him clear up or show him where Zayn keeps the tea bags.

Harry comes back empty handed. He’s quiet and Niall doesn’t say anything when he pulls at the hem of his jacket, dragging it awkwardly off one shoulder and then the other. It slaps loudly when Harry drops it onto the ground and Niall looks up at him then, just to see how serious his expression is as he starts to peel Niall’s t-shirt over his head.

“Is this like some sort of weird seducing technique?” Niall asks him before he goes quiet again. His throat feels tight and the wind picks up outside, battering at the windows and it all just makes him want to curl up into bed, burrow down underneath the covers and never come out.

“It’s getting you warm,” Harry tells him and rubs his palm down over Niall’s shoulder as if that’s going to help when they’re sitting in Niall’s draughty living room.

Something pings from the kitchen and Harry steps away, disappearing into the kitchen for a moment and Niall takes the opportunity alone to peel off his trousers, throwing them into the sopping puddle already in the middle of the sitting room. He drags the blanket off the back of the sofa to wrap around himself and Harry edges back into the room, balancing a bowl of something in his hand.

He sits on the coffee table, close enough to the edge that his knees brush with Niall’s and passes him the bowl, the hot ceramic wrapped in a rag of a tea towel he’s found somewhere.

“Soup?” Niall asks and dips the spoon in. It’s hot and when he licks the back of his spoon he can’t help but laugh. “A tin of tomato soup? Not even the good stuff?”

“It’s hardly my fault that all you’ve got is Tesco’s own brand,” Harry defends himself and when Niall risks a glance up he can see how he’s smiling. “Anyway, it’s supposed to be comforting, a reminder of your childhood and all that!”

“You’ve just got into the finals of Masterchef and you’re giving me tinned soup?” Niall states blankly but sticks his spoon in anyway because it’s hot and he’s still shivering. Harry’s face falls and Niall’s does too, he keeps forgetting what happened this afternoon and every time he remembers it’s like it’s happening all over again.

“Hey,” Harry whispers and Niall looks up at him again. “You know I’m really sorry, right?”

“Yeah,” Niall nods and looks back at the soup. There’s a bit of a skin developing on it already so it must be really cold in the flat. He suddenly doesn’t feel hungry anymore.

“I really didn’t think you wouldn’t be in the final.” Harry takes a deep breath and Niall can’t look up, shoulders hunched and hands cupped around his soup. “You’ve no idea how much I wanted you to be there with me.”

Niall tries to laugh, of course Harry had no doubts in his mind that _he_ would’ve been in the final. He sets the bowl carefully down on the floor beside the leg to the sofa and stands up, pulling the blanket around his middle properly.

“I’m going to go to bed,” he tells him and his voice sounds flat, no invitation at all. Harry nods and reaches out like he’s going to tug him into a hug or something but he pulls back at the last moment.

“I’ll let myself out,” Harry murmurs and Niall nods, thankful that he’s able to just flop into his bed and finally bury himself in his duvets to mope. He’s asleep before he even hears Harry leave.

 

Niall feels groggy when he wakes up. It’s just after ten and he wants to lie in his bed forever but his mouth feels furry, gummy from sleeping with it open all night.

When he edges out of his room he hears voices, low murmurs in the kitchen and the waft of something delicious so he skips brushing his teeth in the bathroom and pushes the door to the kitchen open instead.

“Morning,” Niall says and his voice is still croaky from sleep. Harry’s at the stove, shameless in a pair of boxers and the t-shirt he was wearing yesterday. Zayn looks up at him from the dinner table, hair half ruffled and nearly dressed.

“Hi,” he says softly and Niall knows that Harry’s filled him in. He blinks away from Zayn’s concerned stare before he starts to cry again. He hadn’t thought about how he would tell other people yet, or how that would feel. He doesn’t want to phone his dad and hear his sad consolations.

Harry holds out a plate and Niall looks at it for a moment, it’s perfect and one of the most beautiful breakfasts he’s ever seen. It isn’t suited on his and Zayn’s mismatched dinner set but it’s still pretty when he takes it in his hand and sets it on the table in front of him.

“This isn’t rubbing it in, is it?” he asks and he looks so nervous, not like Niall’s ever seen in the kitchen before.

Zayn raises his eyebrows from the table and Niall notices that he’s got a plate in front of him too, half eaten. Behind them the kitchen counter is gleaming and Niall never knows how Harry always manages to clean up as he goes along.

“You’ve made eggs three different ways,” Niall comments and slides into a seat. Harry nods jerkily before he drops into the seat beside him. Niall lifts his fork and he feels another pang of disappointment as he looks down at the breakfast in front of him. It’s beautifully laid out, drops of hollandaise sauce decorating the plate and Niall wonders if he would’ve been able to pull this off without practising for hours first. Harry’s still watching him, eyes narrowing when Niall looks up and Niall can’t really read his expression. He looks nervous and sad and excited all at once, Niall just feels hollow.

“Thanks Harry,” Niall whispers and pushes the side of his fork through the soft side of his boiled egg, letting the yellowy yolk spill out onto the plate. From the corner of his eye Niall sees Harry’s face drop and he knows he’s not being very responsive this morning but he’s still settling into the fact that he’s not in the competition anymore, that there’s nothing driving him to get out of bed in the morning and into the kitchen. He doesn’t even have his crappy job making coffee anymore.

“I -” Harry starts and stops. Niall’s very aware that Zayn’s in the room with him. He’s gone back to his breakfast but it’s hard to ignore the quiet tension in the room. “I hope you don’t mind that I stayed? I thought - I thought I better make you something better than soup.”

Niall shakes his head. He should be annoyed but really he isn’t, he can’t find it in his bones to care about it right now. He shoves a bit of toast into his mouth and hopes to God that Harry wasn’t up at the crack of dawn baking bread. It feels far too fresh to be the loaf Niall bought two days ago.

“I’m going to go now,” Harry says quietly after Niall’s quietly chewed through a quarter of his breakfast and pushed the rest about the plate. Niall looks up, catching the way Harry’s eyes flick over the table to meet Zayn’s.

He stands up and looks ridiculous in his underwear and floppy socks to block out the cold tiles of the kitchen. Niall knows he should tell him to stay, should smile and be a proper host but he just can’t be bothered. Harry ducks in quickly, brushing his lips over his cheek and Niall can feel how chapped they are, like he’s bitten them raw all morning.

“I’m really sorry,” he breathes into his ear and Niall shivers, hand reaching out to grip at Harry’s wrist. He hopes that it says everything he can’t put into words. How he really appreciates what Harry’s trying to do even if it’s just making things a little bit worse at the minute.

He thumbs over the bone of his wrist and closes his eyes, ignoring the way Zayn’s watching them and how the little breakfast he did manage is rolling in his stomach already. Harry pulls away, breath ghosting over his jaw and gives him one last look before straightening up and disappearing into the living room.

Niall can hear him pull his jeans on, the jangle of his keys and then the snib on the door before it closes behind him. The flat’s silent after that, even though it wasn’t overly loud before Harry left but now all Niall can hear is his own thinking, too loud for his own head.

“I’m going to head to bed,” Niall mutters and pushes his eggs towards the middle of the table. Zayn looks at him, eyes widening in a way that shows how out of depth he is.

“I’m really sorry, Niall,” Zayn tells him and Niall nods, not wanting to hear as he walks down the hallway and back to his bed, sheets still warm.

 

*

When Niall starts eating 12p Tesco Value noodles and asparagus cuppa soups Zayn forcibly zips him into his coat and pushes him out the door.

“Go for a walk,” Zayn orders him, hands on either side of the doorframe so Niall can’t slip his way back into the house.

“You’re chucking me out?” Niall asks and he sounds miserable, voice scratchy from hardly being used. Zayn rolls his eyes.

“Of course not, just go and walk a couple of streets and when you come back you’ll have a better appetite. If I see you eating dry cereal one more time -”

He doesn’t finish the threat but Niall nods. “I’ll be back soon.”

“I’ll fix us something for dinner, eh?” Zayn asks and his tone is gentle. His hands are still on either side of the doorframe though, so Niall isn’t sure he’s softened him up that much.

He appreciates it though, he’s not sure if he’s ready to step back into the kitchen, not after so many weeks of stressing away in one.

He walks and it’s quiet. He thinks it’s Sunday but he doesn’t have his phone with him to check and most of the houses he walks past have their lights on already. The one on the corner has their Christmas decorations up already and with a squeeze to his gut he realises it’s December already.

He pauses when he realises it’s the second or third time he’s wandered past the flashing santa in the window. It’s darker now and he should probably go home to make sure his kitchen is still standing.

“Are you going to come in?” Harry asks him and Niall startles. He turns his head and sees Harry, ratty t-shirt on and two shirts, one plaid and the one below it stripey. He has a matching headband wrapped around his head and Niall knows that it’s actually the sleeve of his shirt.

“Um,” Niall hums and flaps his arms. He was going to shrug but he’s a bit flustered because he had just meant to go out for a walk. Zayn had wrapped him up in a scarf and shoved him out the door because he was sick of him moping about the house all day. It feels weird to be outside after days tucked up in bed eating his weight in custard creams. The fresh air is making him light headed now that he’s stopped his hike up Harry’s road.

“Come on,” Harry says carefully and reaches out as if to take him by the arm. Niall isn’t sure what makes him flinch away but Harry sees it, face falling as he takes a step away towards his front door, slightly ajar in the evening light.

“Sorry,” Niall says sincerely, voice dry. “I didn’t -”

“Come on in,” Harry mumbles tightly and steps towards the house again. “I’m trying to make pastry.”

Niall follows him, feet walking automatically up the steps to the door. It’s nice and warm inside and it smells of cooking, something sweet like biscuits. His own flat doesn’t smell like this anymore, he hasn’t cooked in nearly a week.

The kitchen is as clean as ever, a pile of washing up on the draining board that Harry’s done as he goes along. Niall smiles tightly at the sight and slides into the chair at the kitchen table, waiting for Harry to speak.

He doesn’t. He just looks at him quietly before turning towards the counter and reaching into a bag of floor. He sprinkles it across his worktop before piling the dough out of his mixing bowl and sinking his fingers into it.

“What're you going to do when you win?” Niall finally asks because he can’t ignore the elephant in the room any longer and the silence between them is wearing thin.

Harry laughs and keeps on pushing his fingers into the dough. They've been quiet for a while, Harry working on the dough for his sweet pastry and Niall’s been happy to sit back at the table and watch the way he kneads it, the shift of his muscles and the shape of his shoulders. He’s supposed to be slicing strawberries but he’s been half heartedly pulling the green bit off the end and eating them instead. It keeps reminding him of the first time he went to Harry’s house, how they had hardly known each other and the promise of the night. He’s not sure what way the night’s going to end now.

“Open my own place,” Harry murmurs and flips the dough again. It makes a sound against the counter. Niall eats another strawberry. He doesn’t have a playlist on this time and he’s gone quiet, like they’re being suddenly serious. "Run the kitchen. Make it my own, y‘know?"

Niall nods and picks at the placemat. It's fraying and made out of wicker, like Harry’s stole them from an all you can eat restaurant. There’s a slap of dough against the counter again and the huff of breath Harry lets out as he kneads it again, folding it in on itself and stretching it out to help the gluten work. Niall supposes they didn’t even talk about this when they were together before, that it wasn’t at the front of their minds - what would happen _after_.

"Maybe employ a cute pastry chef," he says oh so quietly and it pulls Niall away from his maudlin thoughts.

He looks up, neck spasming with how fast he moves and Harry's not working the dough anymore. He's staring across the kitchen at him and Niall’s come to recognise as the look he sometimes gives him, the ones that make him shiver in his seat and he’s not quite figured out what it means yet. His eyes pierce into him and it’s as if he could nearly feel the heat of them, physically on his skin like pads of his fingertips.

"Don't think I'd do you much help," Niall answers him and goes back to where the corner of the placemat has curled up. "You'd never get a star or two with me there." Harry stays silent for a moment.

“Does it get your heart going?” Harry finally asks and his voice seems so quiet from the other side of the kitchen. From the corner of his eye he can see him wipe his hands on the thighs of his jeans, smearing white flour and goo over them.

Niall doesn’t even have to think about it but he does, he pauses and listens to the rush of blood pounding in his ears, the way it has been for the past thirty five minutes. The way his heart thumps whenever he’s with Harry or in the kitchen, something bubbling on the stove and how pretty he can make a plate at the end of it all. He inhales the sugar in the air and takes in the hum of the oven as it warms up and Harry’s fingers are still covered in dough, shadows of flour up his elbows and on the apple of his cheeks and the tentative look he has on his face, the one that makes his heart thump that bit harder.

“Most definitely,” Niall breathes and Harry beams at him, face completely losing all its hesitancy, opening up into a bright grin.

“Then it doesn’t matter where you came in the competition,” Harry tells him and he strides across the kitchen, stopping when he’s close to him. Niall can feel something warm in his belly and the way it swells and radiates out until his skin feels like it’s buzzing. He feels like he could laugh and it’s been days since he’s even cracked a smile.

Harry reaches forward, a brief bout of hesitancy now that they’re up close before he goes for it and Niall just looks up, offers his jaw up for the taking. Harry smiles at him, slow and sweet before he cradles his face in his sticky hands, dough getting stuck the smatter of stubble on his jaw.

“It definitely doesn’t matter to me where I come in the competition,” Harry tells him quietly. He hasn’t kissed him yet, he’s just hovering an inch away from his mouth, as close as he can without making their eyes go funny from trying to keep looking at each other. “Not anymore, you taught me that.”

“I sat in my underwear for a week straight,” Niall tells him because Harry’s being ridiculous, he hasn’t taught him anything about the competition. “Because I lost, that’s how I good I am at losing the competition.”

Harry breathes out a quiet laugh. “Yeah, but now I know that you’re so much more important than a competition.”

Niall doesn’t say anything, he can’t, his voice getting caught up in his throat.

“I get that now,” Harry tells him honestly. Niall nods, face still between Harry’s palms. Harry’s eyes flicker from Niall’s to his mouth for a moment and he wets his lips in anticipation. Niall’s heart is thumping double time and he wonders if Harry can hear it, if he’d press his knuckles against his chest and feel it banging under his ribs.

“And that’s why I want you there, whether I win or lose.”

Niall’s nodding before he’s even finished and Harry’s eyes brighten, face opening up into a smile before he’s kissing him, chaste and sweet and perfect.

“Should I stop distracting you then?” Niall asks when Harry pushes it further, fingers creeping dangerously close to mucking dough into Niall’s hair and he can feel his lips quirk up against his own. “Because if I’m going to be there, I want you to win.”

Harry laughs, breathless and light against him and kisses him again. His hand finally sweeps into Niall’s hair but they ignore it, kissing each other harder and Niall can’t get him close enough. He pulls a hand at the collar of his shirts, tugging at it until he buckles down to his knees in front of the dinner table, kissing him messily.

“Bedroom,” Niall pants against his lips because the last time they did this in the kitchen they got some unpleasant cricks in his neck.

Harry releases him, shuffling back to let him stand up off the chair. “Yeah, gimme a minute, need to stick this dough in.”

Niall laughs, lungs going light and when Harry grins over his shoulder, oven mitts pulled up over his wrists, he isn’t sure when he’ll stop.

 

***

 

Niall drags Harry to a bar on a wet Friday night. It’s dark already, pavement damp but it’s stopped raining so they can walk. Zayn’s been going on about the place for weeks and he’ll be furious that they’ve went without him but the minute they step through the door, Niall doesn’t really care.

It’s loud, music and chatter and there’s a group of suits over in the far corner but the bar seems a friendlier crowd. Harry walks behind him, hands on his hips and Niall grins to himself when he feels Harry’s thumb dip under the hem of his shirt, smoothing a long, hot line over his hip.

“Beer?” Niall calls over his shoulder but he doesn’t expect Harry to hear him. He ducks in behind him when they finally get to the bar, pressing himself up against Niall’s back, two hands on the ledge of the bar either side of Niall’s waist, breathing against his shoulder while Niall orders.

The barman nods and disappears off to the fridge at the far end of the bar and Niall turns in the space Harry’s allowed him, smiling at Harry in the yellow lights of the bar.

The girl beside him does a double take and Niall feels self conscious for a moment as her face morphs into recognition before she smiles. It feels odd, now that the show has finally been on air and his face has been blasted into the homes of millions. Harry’s the one that gets noticed most, he was stopped in Sainsbury’s last week as he was buying some aubergine and a bottle of lube, (for unrelated reasons, of course) and Niall had melted into the frozen aisle with their trolley, leaving him to deal with it.

He’d come back flustered, pink from blushing and grinning like an idiot.

“She thinks I’m gonna win,” Harry had confessed, dropping all his items into the trolley.

“Well she’s right isn’t she?” Niall asked him, watching the smile that spread across Harry’s face.

“Yeah, I suppose she is,” Harry had replied, bashful and embarrassed.

The barman comes back with their beer and Niall pays him, turning back into the circle of Harry’s arms. He trades off the first pull of his beer for a kiss from Harry instead, laughing into his mouth as his stomach swoops and they’re jostled out of the scrum for the bar. The girl catches his eyes again and Niall grins at her, tucking his hand into the space at Harry’s waist.

It’s not their pastry restaurant in France, it’s not even a kitchen to call their own but Niall’s completely happy where he is.


End file.
